It’s my last day.  I’ll never see the telephone cables, from the corner of my eye,

                        meshed together, look like crows’ mingling.

                        Or the

White sheets straggling washing lines, having a barney with futons; bent over balconies,

                        blowing in the wind, from the bellow of petrol station attendants;

who make rainbows on windscreens with their elbows, egging cars, in and out.

 

I’ll never smell yaki niku, as it smoulders on charcoal:

                        Amy, splatting me with the fat.

                        Or

Taste the gumminess of mochi, melting all corners of my mouth:

                        It’s red centre, like lava.

 

I’ll never hear the jostling of school children’s bags, bouncing with pokemon,

                        Hello kitty key rings, swinging from their straps.

                        Or the

Irasshaimase, sumimasens, as I walk into conveni’s.

 

I’ll never see, the black inviting eyes, of the female sushi chef, as she shapes the tuna,

                        gives ME, Extra wasabi J

 

I land, see the familiar red and orange lights lining the M60.

 My Nan’s white wiry hair and soft tissue wrinkles, welcome me

Mum’s cheeks, a flurry of red, reaching for a hug

Dad’s manky moan’s: Where’ve you bin, the pots need doin

                        And you sister

Relief, rimming your smile.