Before I started school, I ran carelessly.
Flailing propelled my growing body
Up steps or over barely audible roads.
Oh my! Have I grown?

The wooden disk atop the May Pole
Would snag and wobble as the ribbons
Pulled taught. I barely saw the girls
Below. Dressed in white, stained by grass.

Every time we stuck, weary grownups
Picked us up, turned us round, put us down
Like whirring clockwork toys. They spoke
In hushed voices. Bad men walked free.

I am proud of our resilience. We clung on,
Little limpets that we are. Without waves,
Our rock pools glisten in the autumn sun.
We are still breathing, we are still one.

We walk the narrow
Night-time streets
Alone together
Our low whispers
Not loud enough
To wake crumpled beds
We're in a labyrinth you said
Drifting without a breeze
You tell me how
You came to be
And I sip upon
Your words
Like wine

Involuntary and silent,
I mouthed a Bless You
To the breeze.

It's true, I may not be as fun as I was
Perhaps I am a little selfish too
But in the morning I will wake early
Slip out whilst you sleep and
Walk a little in the sunshine
Buy a coffee and drink it sitting
On a bench as the world rushes by
I am finding other ways
To treat myself

I'm meeting an
Old friend today.
Not someone
I know that well,
Just someone
I worked with once.
He's flying in from
Mainland Spain.
Not only to be with me,
He said he's meeting
Someone else.
After all, he's
Just someone
I worked with once.
He's asked to meet
On Brompton Road.
Not somewhere
I know that well.
It's all a little posh for me -
The sports cars and Versace bags,
Eyebrows tamed until they shine,
Cuffs with cufflinks,
Men of means.
Not things I need
(although I'm careful
not to judge).
Judging is an invitation
And I think that
I would rather stay,
As someone that
He worked with once.

I spurn your waken world
With waken hoops
And waken tops
And folk jig cut pegs
What shake and split
With every gust
Of waken stoff

I spit your waken ways
Caring sharing nasty glib
Like every scrub
Crack nub and ****
I will not be that thing
Not me, for any
Wanton spicy sniff

Aye aye lit the ways
Of pepes with straight put
Gnash and brittle thot
I fit not nor I want no mix
I rather hit a spon with slot
To sound a clanging
Bowl of frog

The rivers on
A corrugated roof,
Will meet the sea,
Eventually.