with James Aldridge, Minty Donald, Ingrid Shearer and Cecilia Tortajada. Glasgow, 10 th September 2021.
five queer river lovers, familiar and strange
meet on the dividing line of blue and green
consider the edges.
on the grey bridge under their feet
a small brown slug squidges past a sycamore wing
a plastic cup lid, and an orange train ticket;
under the slug runs the kelvin
a student runs from one side of the bridge to the other
takes pictures and disappears
an elderly man picks up litter, quietly attending to his city.
dogs lead their humans to water and trees,
a sleepy bee loses its bearings
buses rumble and birds cry out: beware! beware!
the queer ones follow kelvin
fluid nonbinary interminglings
blond sandstone stands by windswept red
the blond sandstone is older
rats feast in cars while humans sleep
but the rat race is for rats and we are
at the confluence, where kelvin meets clyde
govan keeps watch
two white swans shake their feet and wiggle their chests
protecting their large grey young;
feathers roll and tumble up the slipway, trembling with the wind.
the tide is out and the surface is slippery.
i pick up a toy car and a broken lighter,
luminescent leftovers, like squid remains in plastic bins
materials break down; release can be unpredictable
I wonder who the car belonged to, whose hands have played with it
how it ended up here, how I end up here, time after time
with kelvin and clyde and the turning tide
the trucks thunder in to polish the hard grey riverside
the noise of their engines is shattering, like gunfire exploding,
the birds scream and i cover my ears, there is nowhere to hide.
we need to reorganise