black scarf
i’m still wearing the black scarf
you knitted for me in 1969
we froze for weeks in unheated bed-sits
reading shelley under thin blankets
two prisoners of love in our own arctic gulag
even in bed we kept our clothes on
and spoke tender words in clouds of
misty condensation
when spring came to hampstead heath
you gave me the cold shoulder
and went off with a boy named justin
so just in case there is the remotest chance
you would ever think of me
across this vast expanse of time
your black scarf
still keeps me warm
when a cold wind sweeps across
the city skyline
and something melts inside my heart
as i remember your cheeky smile
and crooked tooth
by oxford circus
you stand before me
in stunned surprise
becoming more lovely
as recognition
lights your eyes
we parted with remorse
when dark clouds gathered
and winter filled our hearts
but now
as we balance on the curb-stones edge
the traffic a thundering river
we acknowledge that kindly affection
as time suddenly slips away
leaving two flustered actors
rehearsing a restoration play
tea with dad
lost in the heat haze
of a backyard sunday
he would sit and gaze
across a steaming pond
of a china mug
talking in that cheerful way
where truth surfaced easily
as mum hoisted wet white sheets
like familiar sails on a still horizon
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