‘Sharp, exciting, iImmediately engaging.’ The North
The Tesco’s effect
At the checkout
Victor fumbled
for his forgotten wallet
then wondered where on earth he was.
The boy
who looked like the gurkha
he fought alongside in Borneo
offered no clue
nor the view from the window
of concrete, cars
and a chap in a fluorescent jacket
rounding up trolleys.
Was this London?
Was he still managing
the warehouse
getting the goods in and out?
No. He stared at a pack of Kerrygold
and bottle of Jamieson’s
staggering by on the belt;
decided on Limerick.
‘You’re in Leeds love,’
said the customer services lady
offering a cloudy lukewarm glass of water.
He took her word for it
but knew that places
could no longer be trusted,
no longer counted on to stay behind
where he’d left them.
Ron on the elderly ward, with fruit
I see his pyjamas first: shocking peach.
He sees my hospital badge. Grins and nods.
I head for his bed, but he swings his legs out,
meets me in the middle of the bay.
He’s got a point. The ten years we were neighbours,
we never saw inside each other’s houses.
What are you doing here? We ask and answer the same question.
Been back to the old street lately? Not for a while.
Whole place gone to landlords now, of course, doing it all up.
You can hardly get down it for builders’ trucks.
And what about old Jim? Our eyes meet.
Still there, we think, sleeping it off, Mini on bricks out front,
still accusing everyone of plotting to cut down his tree.
Nurses pass like dodgems. We pause, each side
of the invisible teak-stained larch lap fence
that separated his terrier from my collie,
his prize dahlias from my blackcurrants,
his Shirley with her leg from my Southern accent.
She’s gone now, he says suddenly. Her weight killed her.
Then we’re talking more dead people:
ailments, conduct of doctors, loveliness of funerals.
And dead dogs: hard decisions, vet’s bills.
He’s taken on a new bitch from a bloke at the sheltered housing.
Apple. Funny name for a dog.
Things have changed. Our subject matter’s the same, though.
So is the way we run out of things to say
but go on standing, reluctant to part company just yet
and return to the dim interior of our divided lives.
What I know
I know what it’s like to be the shy plain one
I know being in love is easy; loving someone is hard
I know happiness is something no-one else can give you
I know what’s happening the other side of the world just by picking up a newspaper.
I know sometimes it’s easier to do what other people want
I know the telephone makes it possible to lie
I know you can’t change other people; only yourself, and that takes time
I know a missed opportunity may not come again.
I know treading on the cracks in the pavement may be foolish
I know a lot of people superficially; few well
I know everyone has a good word for the park-keeper’s assistant
I know dieting doesn’t work; makes you fatter.
I know you should never pick fruit for wine when it’s raining
I know the dangers of smoking, but I still do it
I know you have to make allowances for some people
I know yesterday only seems safe because we know what came after.
I know when you’re young, it all seems possible
I know when holidays arrive, one is often too tired to enjoy them
I know living with others is about compromise
I know the more a dog barks, the less likely he is to bite.
I know most people are fearful of change
I know there’s no such thing as a perfect stranger
I know when you’re ill, it seems everything is ending, has ended
I know I still miss you, especially on Bank Holidays.
Published in Risk Behaviour (Smith/Doorstep Books 1993)