It is August now
Outside the cottage museum
No one enters, no one leaves
If I wander for long enough
I may just find what it is
That I wander for
If it is to read the poems
Of Thomas A Clarke
It will not have been a wasted journey
Neither if the result
Was to recollect
The untamed sexual desires
Of consenting adults
Caught in the crossfire
Of early middle age
If I mooch about in my mind
I may see another door open
You, stood uptight behind me
Both of us, variously undressed
Warm, welcomed, willing
Willows within each other’s skin
If I try to work it out
I may decide all is nonsense
Me, trying to make a way of it
You, you say to stay away
What did the tea leaves say
Be thankful for the journey
