Lying in bed
Listening to the rain
Lying in the gutter feeling the pain.
And there is the love
We feel for the drunk
Lurching towards us
With a broken bottle,
Love not pity.
And the love we feel
For the snake in the grass
About to ruin our  picnic,
And for the stranger who
Pushes in front of us
Then coughs in our face,
And for the bodies
We borrowed,
Ours and theirs,
When they start to fade,
And for someone who
Steals our love
Then won't give it back,
And for the speeding driver who kills our best friend.
Love not forgiveness.
And there is the easy love
When we love someone
And they are loving us back.

Me and my sandwich
Are going driving today
Just the two of us
Getting away from it all
Up into the hills
For a bit of cheese meditation.
It's on the passenger seat
Looking depressed.
Cheer up I say
It might never happen.
It's not like there is a virus sweeping the planet killing thousands.
It's not like they have another ten lined up until everyone in the free world is dead or subjugated. That's conspiracy *******.
It's not like they are trying to destabilize the world and make it vulnerable for a nuclear attack. The sandwich still looks glum. It might be looking out of the window. It's hard to tell.
I mean on any given day 150,000 people die around the world anyway. And that's a good day. There have always been wars, poverty and disease. It's the way it's supposed to be. There are more people dead than alive. We are the survivors. It's not like people can't see doctors or operations are being cancelled is it? Its not like people are losing their jobs and going homeless. Or we can't go on holiday or see loved ones and if you do it's not like you can't touch them.
Nothing I say will cheer the sandwich up.
Finally it gets a word in.
I'm depressed because
You're just about to eat me, it says.
No I'm not, I say.

We had to run
To the nearest tree
Holding hands
For the first time
Instinctively clutching
Each other's in case
One of us slipped,
Because you brought
The rain with you.

In my room
Our first kiss
The lonely minutes
Cried out for the
Reassurances of eternity.
When you slept
I stayed awake
It felt like
You were healing me
I had found my source,
Because you brought
The night with you.

In the morning
We started our lives together,
I thank you
For all those days
We shared .
And I will try to imagine
How you look now
Wonder again if you
Have someone else,
Because you brought
The years with you.

I was the wind
That never blew the leaf
That never fell
From the tree
That never grew.
I was the rain
Before there were clouds.
I was a marking on a rock
Before anyone could draw or write.
I was the sunset
Before anyone could see.
I was a kiss
Before there were lips.
I was a whisper
When people could only shout.
I was the second
Before the first second.
I was the love
That was fashioned
From nothing
That came and went
Back to nothing.
I am the next breath
I will never need.
I am dead
To my love
Even worse
To her I never existed.

I wrote you
Something
Hoping you would find it
On the bark of a tree
In a forest
Somewhere.

I shouted out
Something
Hoping you would hear it
Amongst the crows and seagulls
In a field or at a beach
Somewhere.

I painted you
Something
Hoping you would see my colour
In a rainbow
In a troubled sky
Somewhere.

I cried for
Something
Hoping you would see my tears
In a waterfall
In a river
Somewhere.

And if you did
You could do the same.
Maybe we are communicating
On a different level already.

I had expected to be woken
By canons and church bells
And brass bands and people
Lining the streets
Waving the Union Jack and climbing
On each others shoulders
To get a better view
Of the victorious homecoming troops
And shouting 'Let me take your rifle son,
You won't be needing that anymore'.
But instead a kind of eerie silence pervades -
A bit like any other Bank Holiday really.

So, bemused I wander into town
Along with the other stragglers
Solitary shell shocked forlorn figures,
Some wearing medals
Who like me had somehow become left behind
And missed the best of the fighting.
Nor do the decorations inspire patriotic fervour,
Half a mile of bunting
And a scattering of flags
Hanging listlessly in the morning drizzle,
And the odd poster advertising fireworks tonight
All live ammunition having been descretely confiscated.

In one shop as if to draw attention
Away from their opening
There is a school project, a mock up
Of the Blitz
While others, not wishing to prosper from war
Have remained closed.
A handful of old soldiers are huddled
Around the memorial, in muted thanksgiving.
They place wreaths, salute and hug each other
And I feel if only I could hear what they were saying
Then I would really know.

But on TV celebrations are gathering pace.
Numerous authentic black and white films
And to stirring renditions of the Dam Busters
A parade for those who knew victims and survivors
Who wipe away tears and stare into no man's land,
And later beaming presenters will reunite
Sons and daughters of airmen missing
And presumed dead seventy five years ago
With their families, who in turn
Will be introduced to the grandchildren of their captors
Who have become best of friends
And who now regularly go fishing together.

Not for us the delights of Venice
A tan on the Med or being seen on the piste,
Our holiday was passed down to us by elders
Who religiously planned for two weeks of heaven at least
When the whole street decended
Like so many aliens
Who on reaching the earth's atmosphere
Forgot they were supposed to **** and pillage
And just went plain silly,
In caravans and huge tents you said
A congregation of days running together
Whose shimmering horizons, like great moats
Protected, edified, were ready to sweep away
Invading thoughts of ever returning to that hum drum existence
Of that make believe life forever ended.

Sadly we never achieved such heights
Ours were snatched days, hastily arranged nights
When we gambled on the weather
Opted for more familiar sights,
And there it is, just as you had left it
The sandcastle with tiny flagged turrets
And shells, handpicked, embroidered
On to walls packed tight
Enough to repel the advancing tide
The merciless frothy blackness, creeping all night
Over our lost childhood and innocence.

Even those stolen moments are not on offer any more
Leaving me hundreds of miles from shore
With the bucket and ***** you both forgot
And plenty of time to reflect
On what could have been
But if I ***** up my eyes really tightly
I can just make out two small figures
Playing like children
On the beach
In the sun.