Poems (a) -‐ It It creeps upon you. (Never) Windows lit and then darkened at the back of brick terraces. On, then off. You know, you see them all the time but never give them (or it )much thought really, like a rainy day or a nagging dog. I had one of those, black paws, black eyes, coat shiny like an oil cloth. Poor billy. From time to time I think about (it) these days. Never before. Once, a long time ago I took a cycle ride on a summer day, slow, paced, singing along the way. Oh, and the hills; I had to walk up them and freewheel down them. Had a puncture, of course (no repair kit!) stopped me in my tracks. Plenty of time back then. I. (Well that was then, this is now). think about it these days. Never before ever. -‐ Brown shoes, They say, should never be seen with a black suit. Why do the Italians where them then? You. Know, how good they can look? Don’t you? My mother used to say – or was it my grandmother, ‘Good heels, you can tell the cut of a man by the state of his heels’. This I gleaned (by my minds own mechanicals) was because a well heeled man musn’t have walked much; had some one to do that for him I suppose. Brown or black then wouldn’t matter at all.
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