I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT WORD MEANS

This poem originated in a workshop. We had to choose and year then write our responses to certain questions that were asked about it by the facilitator. What follows is as true as I can remember.

1974

I spend more on the green buses

travelling there or coming back

than I do where I am going.

There is the occasional milky coffee

chipped cups in the bus station cafe

windows misted, cigarette smoke and coughing old men

The park is empty

sun slopes through trees

to redden the lake and the municipal ducks.

Winter comes calling

my patch pocket, button front, black loons

are no match for the lazy wind

I do not know where or what we eat

but we are either at The Grand or the Beer Keller

or kissing in a doorway

Once in a while your house is empty

I say I love you

I have no idea what that word means

The poem was in my fourth collection. I like its honesty and the way in which the disparate facts build up to offer a picture of a lost world. I've been back to Wigan on occasion but obviously it has changed beyond all recognition. The last time was to go to a gig and I happened to drive past The Grand Hotel, it was derelict. 

Here's The Beatles with All Things Must Pass.

Until next time.