Fruits and Suites

We washed in an avocado-coloured bath –
we had never tasted that foreign fruit
back in nineteen-seventy-two – or three –
we were lucky to get to peel tangerines

It was a plastic suite – uneasily creaking
with our scales of weights of our pre-teen
occasional visits – each darkly recorded
by layered rings of both dirt and soap –

but warm with the water – no cold steel
or enamel suck – a discomfort favoured
by our TV-fashioned homemakers –
but – one hears – green baths are back

Killing Time on Sunday

You can kill time so quietly
in Waitrose’s busy car park
backed up at the shady end –
a wide view of the comings
and goings of happy shoppers –
with – and without – rattled trolleys
in this life of filling and re-filling
kitchen shelves and freezers
in readiness for family visits
and too-successful relations
who never bring any decent wine
Let us pray for a seemly Sunday

De La Warr

I am here – thick-and-mixed
among middle class minions
who eye up the croissants
in the De La Warr Pavilion –
they discuss in great depth
the state of the nation
as they queue so politely
for the barista’s attention –
The winter light bounces
off the buffed bar surface
and my large mug of latte
warms me to their circus –
I leave via the shop –
where I eye the gift dirge –
my shifting behaviour
is verging on absurd –
Return me to boozers
with their beery truths –
avoid gentrification –
and all it consumes

Parents’ Bays, Waitrose, Uckfield.

4th February 2017

To she who mouthed an obscenity
(because I parked in a Family Bay):
I hope we get to meet up again,
as I didn’t get to fully explain:
There is no excuse for what I did,
especially as I didn’t drive my kids;
instead it was me picking up paint,
these days a much heavier weight:
the problem is my hands always hurt,
my feet are crippled, my strength is burnt:
Concession is king in my brain disease:
Hey, I’ll soon forget your obscenities!