Topaz

Topaz

 

 

a sunshine towpath early evening

waiting for the pub to open

watching a pair of swans at swim

in a world of my own

 

until a pinstripe stranger,

rose buttonhole, fedora,

chose to sit right next to me

and shake my hand

 

‘Topaz McGonagall - blame my parents’

‘nice to meet you'

'nice to meet you'

 

I took my paper from my pocket

and made out I was reading it.

 

he pointed a finger at the sky,

 

‘I love when the sun is melancholy

the day dips into darkness

and flower heads droop… do you?’

 

my eye fell on my horoscope,

life was looking up alright 

romance was in the air

for Sagittarians, 

 

the new barmaid, Doreen

tall, blonde, pneumatic,

had her eye on me

 

and the ‘Bird in Hand’ had a guest real ale,

Jimmy Riddle up from Dorset

I could not wait to chat up Doreen

and enjoy my first few pints of it

 

‘no, I can’t say that I do…’

 

Topaz continued undeterred,

 

‘I love to gaze into the sky, or sometimes

country hedges tracing clematis' climbing…’

sometimes I dream that if I punch

a hole through a hedge or even the sky

I might see into eternity…’ 

 

he stared into the water,

‘life and death are not in our hands

we are the condemned, 

always waiting, always fearing

unless we grasp our fate ourselves’

 

the church bell signalled opening time

‘been nice talking… must dash… train to catch…’

 

I turned and made to tip my hat

but there was nothing

to show where Topaz had sat

 

a rose, perused by curious swans,

floated on the green ink water,

and a fedora tipped over the weir.