It’s farce and there’s nothing like it

So stupid, ‘gainst the grain

Don’t publicise – don’t mic it...

Already I’ve forgotten what you wore

Sunday, standing by the fridge; it was black,

And your arm supported the broom...

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The windows are grimy: I think of you 

And they’re translucent suddenly

The day is grey but with a few...

The breeze favoured me on Turnham Green 

Urging me Brentford-ward long before

The bus arrived. Air had a silver sheen...

What people see when they enter our home

Is not a shabbiness, a bit of dust

The wear in carpets, evidence of rust...

The kids weren’t there; the sun walled up with cloud

What wan Sunday noon we walked from church into!

Our walls seemed wet...

What a long long way I’ve come

- Time and wood and stars - 

But way back things began to hum...

I’m back

Facing red Victorian brick and wet slate roofs

Little dear things the kids have given grace my space...

Why should one so good and fair

From the world’s store find delight

With a sixty-year-old man?...

Here in the marvellous garden

The magic shadows play;

With the sunlight’s pardon...