Chris Guidon

Unexpected Sunshine

And the light’s fading,
syrupy rich sunlight that touched the faces
in the market, in the centre of town
but didn’t sweeten their appearance to me
as I wondered aimlessly on my day-off.

The strange people are out,
the ones that move slower, seemingly with no

Like the black anorexic girl who once chatted to me
years ago, when I was trying to get a place
at the college and my girl at the time got jealous.
The one I see drifting into D block.

I saw her just now; eyes fixed, barely moving through the crowds.
Her face gaunt. Deflated. She looked like God had touched her.
I don’t know what that means, I just kept thinking God. God. God.

I have seen death. The dumb blunt finality of it.
All fires burn out, no matter how fierce.

In the sun by the church where Bobby and Emma got married
I closed my eyes.
I thought of the young girl in town with beige coloured jeans
I thought of her supple shape and my hairy stomach convalescing
like the sunshine on the ugly market stalls.

I remembered all the girls I’ve fucked.
All the beautiful pools I’ve swam in.

I feel like I’m close to something.


Chris Guidon is a man who like chinese food and has lots of books. He’s a published writer, an occasional painter and a reluctant shift worker in a lab in kidderminster.



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