Half-lives I

Watching clocks and making hay,
skiving someone’s busy day.
Beg an hour, taking two
to mend a door and have a brew.

It’s nothing new.

Chilling winter evenings,
tunes and chats in the living room
but always leaving far too soon,
to return on a summer afternoon
and puff the world back to health
through the smoke of a sneaky cig or two,
and a little bit of stealth.

Then, on a wet November Saturday...

Venus and Mars,
so long passing in distant orbit,
just a momentary tug of gravity
across the void,
collide gratefully and with much relief
in Church Street, York.

It’s been a long time.

Water under the bridge, sure,
and though we roll and tumble in the flood,
few regrets.
I’m glad you’re around, kid.
Know that on this land the fire’s always lit
and your lease still good.