It is, isn’t it
When you read about the colour blue
In Rebecca Solnit's book
A Field Guide to Getting Lost
You say to yourself
She is a bloody good writer
Yes, she is, isn’t she
Then, after you have photographed
All of the curators paired up pictures and sculptures
In the Longside Gallery at YSP
You again say to yourself
They have made bloody-good pairings
I should say so, don't you think so
Such that you go outside
Purchase a black Americano
A raspberry sorbet ice-cream
Then you say to yourself
That this is the life
Yes, it bloody well is, isn't it
You sit down, look at the long field of tilled earth
With the sun and the cloud’s shadows
Taking it in turns to sweep towards you
Again you say to yourself
I'm so bloody well glad
That I played truant from work today, aren't I just
So excited you almost forget to mention the breeze
Which zips into your life
Reminds you, how as a teenager you climbed the wall
So you say to yourself
I was bloody lucky
To have been born near here, wasn't I
To go to the Young Farmers dances
On high days, Fridays and summer holidays
Down the road by the triangle at Cawthorne
So again you say to yourself
Isn't it just bloody magic
To have memories to look back on, it is, isn't it
Today singles, couples and families walk up the path
Which you often strode down
Walking here alone, walking from your mother's house
Which makes you think to say to yourself
She was a bloody good mum
She looked really happy in that blue dress, didn't she
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