Two more - the second one, it's not really Hackney, there's a little bit of Hackney, it's mainly banging my head on a rugby pitch too hard for playing rugby on, and the alternative life in the skipping brainwaves ...
DURHAM
A layby passing Durham, drivers swapped
for half us trussed-up travellers poured out cold
For fags and freedom. I’d already dropped
My mission - to reclaim the bag some bold
Thief (I presumed) had pinched, from ‘neath my seat,
Containing sundry vittels for the trial
By night coach budget had caused ends to meet,
Regret expanding mile by tortuous mile.
With planning and a few more pounds to spare,
I’d have my meal, uncramped, unthieved, by day.
I would, indeed, already have been there –
Revived by myriad sights along the way.
Look right for the cathedral on the hill –
Look down – this coach sits in the layby, still.
HACKNEY
Remember me, the one who loved you best,
A double déjà vu in summertime,
A single cloud, a scarred and sunburnt ghost,
On hard cracked ground, a primary colour crime,
A buried thought, a careless tourniquet,
The overpass, those burnt out shells of cars,
Your phone switched off, he says you’ve gone away.
September planes, we cowered at shooting stars,
The church half-full, the newborn babies wail.
Down by the river reading Borstal Boy
Another self-aggrandising folk tale,
A tawdry ruse the loser to employ.
Remember when I still could make you smile,
Now speak my soul, long since and lost a while.
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