Thursday, May 21, 2009

The Last Taste Of Orange

I could have died last week.
I could have smelt my last burnt toast,
tasted my last orange. I could have.
Before I lost consciousness
I wondered if swallowing pills
would be the last thing I would do.
It was all over again, you see,
and I didn't care what happened next.

I wonder what a last night should feel like?
Just another stretch of darkness before the darkness,
or a slow, star-filled in-gathering
as time comes into its final alignment?
I remember staring at my feet sticking out
as I leant back against the door,
and watching the spilt bottle roll back and forth.
And hearing a train roar carelessly through the station.

10 August 2008

This poem won First Prize in the Poetry Section of the Blue Fringe Literature Awards for 2009.


  1. Congratulations Peter. Your words, as always, touch my soul.

  2. A well-deserved win. Congratulations Peter. You amaze me with every poem you submit