EDINBURGH
They stood on secret bridges spying down
On long lost lovers, mapless, staying lost,
All fresh regret they both chose the Old Town,
Forgetting its renown for live wires crossed.
The winter chill came early as the rain
Laid waste their make up, he chased all the length
Of Chambers Street and Cowgate, while his brain
Surrendered meekly to its draining strength.
She wants to be a writer, he’s not sure
The money’s in it, he’ll cross Princes Street
Tomorrow, on the path to being mature;
tonight though, he’s supportive and discreet.
Tonight, they find each other, after all
The wasted time, it slows, finally, to a crawl.
ASHFORD
“They like it tropical” she rasped, just one
On the production line of firm but kind
Midwives with slightly changed advice. The sun
Ensured her words were heard. No fan, no blind
could quell the ward’s oppressive shrouding heat.
The new girl squirmed, she blinked and howled her blues
while my calves swelled like former hells thought beat –
We begged in vain a spare bed I could use.
As evening came to calm the sweltering blast
The room, as if by magic, lost its crowd
And we were left, us three, us three! at last
To feel it, breathe out, tell her loud and proud,
To play that bright-eyed girl that Bright Eyes song.
The moment passed. We weren’t alone for long.
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