• Where are you going?
    Where are you going with no shoes?
    I am going to find a friend.
    going in circles - the wrong direction -
    shivering on bare legs.
    I am trying to keep walking,
    keep upright.
    I am a chilly bug in my
    half-a-dress,
    bear-hugging the wraparound words

    ‘Where are you going?
    Where are you going with no shoes?’
    Wandering through Liverpool town
    steadily getting colder
    feet getting wetter.
    Picking up strange, obvious men
    who ask me

    ‘Where are you going?
    Where are you going with no shoes?’
    Go home – get some sleep –
    put some shoes on.
    These strange men are no company,
    their flaking shadow of an existence.
    I ask myself

    ‘Where are you going?
    Where are you going with no shoes
    no tights – no jumper
    or coat?’
    I am an icicle draped in skin.
    The inside bites.
    And keeps reciting

    ‘Where are you going?
    Where are you going with no shoes?’
    Drifting like morning before it paints the sky.
    I am dark blue by black as the
    not-so-silent night passes.

    I am going.
    I am going with no shoes.