On Bluestone Heath road
Keeping away from the house
While the estate agent
Tries his very best to sell it
Instead a circular tour
(Except one road was closed)
To the three towns
Nearest to Revesby Estate
I am no town planner
But to have a toilet block
With all four doors locked
Seems to be an extravagance
Is this a prime example
Where the private sector
Could make more use
Of a town centre asset
Have I ever been so sociable
Agreeing to everything
The salesman suggests
Could I have quibbled
Tried harder
For more of a bargain
Will I forgive myself
In the fulness of time
I didn’t even go for a test drive
The sky is white and grey
Embellished by the remnants
Of a giant smoke ring
Which says quite a bit
About my day
What with all this stillness
We don’t sell date slice
I was in no position to argue
Yes you can have a muesli slice
How could I complain
But what about the coffee
Yes it is Americano
And the red brick church
Was it built by the founding fathers
You may have to go to the bookshop
To find the answer to that one
You mean the place which no longer has a café
But I have already been there
Best find yourself a bench then
There’s one at the cross roads
What about Cornish pasties
I thought I saw one in the window
I’m afraid they’re beef my love
And baked right here in Lincolnshire
Should I go back I wonder
To complement her
On the confectionery or the conversation
There is a history
Which you too may be able to recollect
Of the things done in this life
Less is known, or so we presume
Of those challenges or events for which
You were turned down or chose not to attend
Yet for certain we know that on the great canvas
Your part has been infinitesimally small
Even by those most generous of observers
Of course you may say what if
If you had been successful at grammar school
If you had gone to Christ's College Cambridge
Or perhaps you would have preferred
To make it as a professional footballer
Playing for Sheffield Wednesday
That said, what about today
Eating flapjack, drinking coffee, on a bench
In Lincolnshire’s elegant straight through town
The words say
That Mary
Is a published poet
And I wonder
What does that mean
How did that make her feel
I am close
To the main road now
Should I join this group
Elbow sing
Of feeding the fire
Is that what we do
The Scotsman talks
Of the year they went
To the Royal Opera House
To see My fair lady
They chink their glasses
Of chilled white wine
As if to say cheers
Or something even more celebratory
My tea is now stewed
The earlier freshness
Has declined considerably
Probably due to listening in to other folk’s stories
Reverse order
After being caught out
With no pages left
Going forwards
So I turn around
As I turned around before
When life had left me
Dwelling in space
The church clock chimes
As you might hope it would
At a quarter to the hour
Or round about then
A seemingly inquisitive man
You know the sort
In brown corduroy
Gets up and goes indoors
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| Available at Amazon |
A poem
Clouded by a play
A play
Shrouded with intimacy
Into love
Walk together
Into life
Stand apart
Into time
Never closer
I was quite determined
You also perhaps
Having given to me
Your telephone number
You also had shown determination
Going up to London to see an old flame
Yet you returned
To invite me onto the dance floor
