There is a good deal
Of tidying to be done
Trouble is
As is often the case
Where to begin
How to make a plan
When no plan
Seems to be forthcoming
Where goes the dynamism
From those previous summers
You know
With exhibitions
Of paintings and sculptures
Using driftwood
For decoration
So much since has entered
Which now must be
Put out to pasture
Or taken to refuse
One wonders
How do they do this
In New York apartments
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But I am pretty sure
He would have smoked Woodbines
Or Park Drive, on his allotment
Beside the Humber Estuary
Those flats or smooth slopes
Contoured by the tide
Giving a certainty more even
Than the drag-in, followed by
The puff-out, of cigarette smoke
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There is a man on the boundary
Just in front of square
Root yet to get off the mark
Just go with a bit of experience
At least they have had some success
It can help you as a player
Giving it that extra bit of fizz
Sometimes causes trouble
Nearly. Nearly.
He survives
He is young
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Set against the umber clay
Of the chimney pot
Where the pigeons
Share an intimacy
In the afternoon summer sun
As if a conversation
Was unnecessary
Before the butterfly flew by
Would it matter if I said hello
In an icy-breath kind of way
Black slate from the valleys
Set against freckled red brick
Where layers of shadows
Have asked intimate questions
As the tall conifers looked on
Now, for absolute certain
Words must be spoken
To encourage the flowering
Of the yes-no interlude
In a need to respond sort of way
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