There is an open-topped bus
On the hour
If it’s not raining
Other than that
It’s three-quarters of an hour
For the regular service
Somehow the folk
Look altogether older
Perhaps down here
They flew too near to the sun
In their youth
Whereas I stayed up north
But no
The open-topped route
Is finished for the day
How fortunate are we
To wait in this bus-station
While clouds and national
Cyclists routinely pass by
It’s twelve o’clock
Can you not
Hear the bells ringing
It’s a cool breeze
And only one hour
Until we enter
The open-air
Lido swimming pool
With geo-thermic partition
Are there lockers I wonder
What if we should lose
Our tickets to the Scilly Isles
I don’t expect
That it was this quiet
During the school holidays
Where else but here
How far to go to be near
The evidence is awkward and queer
Though this is where I am my dear
The eight-seater is taking off
Snouts are already in the trough
Nobody’s tested but one has got a cough
It’s not champagne but it does have a froth
Where else but there
The runway to anywhere
A time that is all but exactingly square
Set out early, wear layer upon layer
Edging down the final straight
Fingers crossed we won’t be late
We did not pack, but signed in as freight
All together now: take care of the After-Eight
Co-ordinates
Co-ordinated
In the one space
Endless silence
Endless conversations
Where are we
Without
Some form of communication
So why not write
To a loved one
Half a lifetime away
For to leave it to the gravestone
Or in the graveyard
That sentiment is way too late
