On Blagrave Street, today,
things look pretty much
the same as they do
on any other day of the week.
On Blagrave Street, today,
the buses carry on making
their way around the back
of The Forbury, as they
usually do, calm as you like,
and so polite. And people stand
around in queues, jumping on
and off when the next bus is due,
scurrying along on their way
to be anywhere else today,
than here, on Blagrave Street –
a coffee break at Café Neros,
meeting some mates, or a lunch time
secret rendezvous, perhaps? But
not much else; not of any
interest anyway, other than
to innocent third parties caught
up in the emotional aftermath…
And the old town hall has not
stirred one bit, nor moved its pitch
to a new address, while shoppers
do what they do best, sloping
off to buy their wares, some groceries
or a sale room bargain; to
John Lewis to buy that new dress.
And the only real excitement
that I can report, other than
catching up on the local sport,
is that I wrote another poem
today, sitting over a coffee
and piece of cake, counting words
and how many hours left in the day –
watching the passers-by making
their way to be any other place
on such a humdrum day, rather than
being stuck wandering astray
on weary Blagrave Street…
Ian J McKenzie 17th October 2022
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