Echo
The voices of ducks,
doggies and birdies
echoed in the caves
of our mouths.
Ack! Ack!
Oof! Oof!
Weet! Weet!
In the underpass,
I let your name rise
deep from my chest
so you could hear it
bounce back at us,
as moments like this
will come back
when we are far
from here,
and your hand
no longer needs
my hand.
Ross Wilson works full time as an Auxiliary Nurse in Glasgow. His first full collection was published by Smokestack Books in 2018. His poems have appeared in The Dark Horse, The Honest Ulsterman, Edinburgh Review, and other publications.
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