Got myself to a Starbuck’s in the ‘Heart’ of Roundhay to send you a missive…I went for a long walk with me new flatmate today and wanted to write a poem on the change that occurs between early joyful snow and brown hell sent, self obsessed slush; writing poems in my head never works out…i need paper!!!
lets try it…1.2.3
On Monday gladly the snow fell on our roofs and minds
By Tuesday slowed had the traffic to zero or no go
Or Tuesday it was so crisp my body rocked off a ledge or 2
Between some words were exchanged without a cuddle ensuing.
Thursday we played common cold on a bus frozen glare
Friday was a bouncy doggy walking heaven; sticks and eating snow
Saturday we must confess zero activity on the park – good fish food.
Sunday early jaunt but displaced by crowded, rotten, selfish, heavy handed brown stained virginity.
This needs an aside or two…
I had the best of times and the worst of times in the snow deep and cold and emoting.
Tuesday Tuesday is falling down – bumping and tumbling over and over – snow cold behind, snow cold bum…why am I sat on this! Pub Pub where are you – sledges is for teenage fools!
Wednesday – Where are you? I knock and knock and talk to the white cat that is black really. ‘Oh Hi'(at last!) for a walk without emotion just in case emotion is what we needed. Tea, Kitkat and nothing.
Thursday brought a 7.15 alarmed call and a snotty trudge towards an appointment only the damned must keep, and I can cancel an alcohol counsellor because I am.
Friday this dog can almost talk his happiness; almost he speaks thanks while he eats sticks and snow mysteriously – Woof Woof.
Saturday was a green/brown diet fishy thing that tastes of fish and spice and seemed/looked ?OK?
Sunday brought crowds of ‘snow seeks’ who destroyed our free and untroubled and un-rotting snow.
So much brown slush and dog mess and disgarded broken sledges feeling like a tip which once was a park.
So with speed and speeding up to a hard breathing exertion to the top of Street Lane for a grand slap up Fish and Chip dinner for a mere £3 each paying punter. And now we sit in this coffee and ethnic hell to unwind before another cold and colder journey towards some other destiny; Wetherby greets.
And now my mind is blank – I blink and blank stares at me from a brown wall – need to push on from my Starbucks and Ethnic retreat to concrete and consequential Wetherbyland.