Elizabeth Gardens

I am sat on a bench
in Elizabeth Gardens –
that irregularly manicured
Jubilee remnant

I hear the thrum-engine –
the Uckfield to London line –
low tremors from the station
with both of us resting

but then she shunts loudly
on her commuted haul
and with my gripped pain
I stand – stiff – but resolved

that my own departure
is kept to a timetable –
one promised to my wife
at my bench-long halt

You go ahead – I need to rest
and I watched her walk on
with the dog – and its pull
Me – re-scheduled to then follow

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