John Doyle writes

I’ll Send You a Postcard Tomorrow Amelia, That I Promise

Negatives of my shoelaces

fade from my shins

as I dissolve into my myself,

appearing moments later

as an acrobat in Rush and Lusk Station

haunted by the puppeteer

who pulled the children

like seaweed from the waters -

it makes a believable alibi

explaining myself 

to a man checking tickets

who spent last night sleeping

in a wooden hotel from the late 19th Century

while his wife, son and daughter

trotted off to Sunday School

unaccompanied