70

Uncertain
As to where time alone might take me
I did not stay alone so very long

From behind the curtain
As if the love of my life forgave me
I show myself to stand square, and to be fairly strong

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69

There is sun on the snow, back at my B&B
There is sun through the weeping willow, back at my B&B
There is peace in the trees, trees without leaves, back at my B&B

I vowed to steer away
And steer away
Is exactly what I've done

I did not go in search of longing
I did not go in search of loss
I did not go in search of yearning
I did not go in search of cost

Instead I found friendly faces
Who turned around
And asked may I help you

As they complemented me on my bracelet

There are good memories of this day, back at my B&B
There are ladders, and drains to mend, back at my B&B
There are owners, also known as friends, back at my B&B

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68

Retail therapy doesn't do it for me today
I find a flaw in the construction of the oak bureau
And so it is moved, from the must have, to the might have
But only if it's a bargain
And at close on seven hundred it isn't

Unlike last seasons Christmas lights, which it seems
Must have been substantially overstocked
They are discounted, significantly, extremely
Although in February, even though it is my birthday
I have little need for shimmering imitation chandeliers

I did see tables for the stables, but, yes I know another but
But I am quite unable to act unilaterally in this regard
And so I move on to the coffee shop, which nowadays
Unlike the days of my youth, is filled with young mothers
And all manner of pushchairs, and contemporary carrying contraptions
It is, I have to say, almost the equivalent of those food pubs
Who have two for one pensioner days, just to prove
Or so I think, that pensions are keeping pace with inflation

Starbucks was no place for a struggling writer
Not that I am a writer, but if I was it would be a struggle
Not a penny, actually just one penny change from five pounds
For a small Americano and an even smaller bar of granola, yes
I know that granola is a diet sin, and that I have to pay for my sins
But to pay through the nose, that smells more than a bit shifty

I drove back through Eastwood
Not specifically to see the schoolgirls smoking
Or to be surprised, by the young boys in anoraks
Entering the valentines card shop

It was the satellite navigation that redirected me
Apparently there was an accident on the direct route
I saw a white van, stopped by the police for speeding
Or maybe for something more sinister; I carried on by

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67

My hands have a white sheen
As though the mornings frost
Wants
For a prolonged reception

Or, that the China clay
From all those years ago
Wants
To have one more chance
To polish me off

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66

I knew the sky was beautiful, big and blue
I just didn't know how to take the photograph
I knew I fancied to live my whole life with you
I just didn't know you thought I was having a laugh

I might eat potatoes
I won't eat hay
I might drive forever
Till the end of the day

I saw the sadness in her eyes
Her soles hardly left the pavement
She shuffled along in her bland clothing
Could I help her
Would my words help her
Might it help to talk
Does it always help to talk
I listened to Helen Dunmore
Reading her poem Wild Strawberries
In that one instant I thought
Of the almost violent beauty
And the ever vigilant pain
At the very extremities of love

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