Another City Tour

Fascinated fronds, we bend towards the guide,

curling around her facts.

Intellects, we process our research

and make notes.

Technical travellers, we film and phrase,

tourists, we sprint for souvenirs.

Weary people in a strange time zone,

we long for supper and sleep.


A Visitor

The archangel was chased away from every home

and came to our haven

with his unopened orders

and his smart dog George.

We were a corrective commune,

asserting nothing,

submissive like the doves we bred,

dipping our souls in balm and reform.

Guarding the pass,

we saw him come

his dog running in front,

the archangel stumbling.

He surprised us by being ordinary,

he disappointed us with his grief

and loneliness,

making eternity seem a poor prize.


Passing By

Poor old Barbara,

calling from the terrace

‘Come and join me – please.’

Even the café cats turn away

and we, selfishly,

ignore the precepts of kindness

use a bland excuse

and continue walking to the car.

Fifty metres on

we start to feel guilty

but it’s too late.

Then later, something white lying in the road,

I brake,

an injured goat unable to stand.

We stop the car, at least we do that.

‘Kaput!’ says a passer-by

walking  away.