August 3rd, 2022Local Lines

Automatic

We move forward slowly.
Out of nowhere, a roar,
vibrations between our feet
felt from the force below.
We stop. All is quiet.

A silver-grey liquid falls,
snake-like. It meanders down.
Twice it appears over us,
before a cleansing rinse
creates waves on the glass.

A multitude of colours rain down,
psychedelic blobs linger
obscuring all view.
Water descends, visibility reappears,
mosaic shapes clear the glass.

Droplets appear. We are almost done.
Like a child I am mesmerised
by the different shapes and forms
conjured up in this ritual.
I love the automatic carwash.

• Gary Wilkinson

Now fully retired, Gary is devoting more time to a bit of gardening, relaxation and travel. The inspiration for his poems generally comes from casual observations or whilst sitting contemplating nature’s wonders.

Local Lines comes mainly from a group of local poets but other submissions are always welcome. To have a poem considered for publication contact Bill Wootton at cottlesbreedge@gmail.com