The Bomb

I thought I couldn't remember
the last dream I ever had,
but then we were talking
about the car in Glasgow
that went up in flames,
and I remembered it again;
the last dream I had.
In it I was walking
back down that
long wide city street
where the women with
coconut oiled hair
sit painting nails purple
and buses roar, in a
broken red seam past
cheap clothing stores
and children, bouncing
their reading bags
home from school;
but this time, the road
seemed to be deserted
apart from the man
struggling with the
latch on his briefcase;
what is he doing, I wondered,
then knew, just before
the phoneboxes breathed flames
and a strong hot breeze
lifted me from my feet
and carried me past
the suits hung trembling
in the dry cleaners and
the O shaped mouths
of the figures rippling
like paper in the current
and for a moment,
there was only silence
apart from the hot wind singing
through my ears,
but then, came the sound
of glass shattering,breaking,
around me and
I don't know what happened next;
maybe my dream took me
some place else,
maybe, now a part of me
will always hang suspended
above that long wide city street.