30. Oct, 2021

'High Street'

The old staples are gone.
The regular sets of
Butcher, baker and greengrocer
Parading down the street for years
Are different now.
Fruit boxes pile up
In the ground floors
Of bank buildings
Built as small slices
Of municipal grandeur.
Barber shops proliferate
Where Estelle Modes once reigned,
Fried chicken and solicitors
Instead of fish and chips.
The Crown Post Office
Where patient queues had to wait,
Orderly,
While staff behind their glass
Enjoyed, very much,
Taking their time with things,
Is closed again,
Its brief phase as
A brunch and watering hole
Already done.
We have an outdoor market now
To be trendy in,
Unless, like a time traveller
With the wrong itinerary,
You happen to arrive on the Saturdays
When it is only a car park again.

Overview

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Two teddies are now

Both in my keeping,

Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.

When new, Bruin was purple, larger,

With a deep growl.

My brother's.

Teddy was smaller, fawn,

Mine.

He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall

And a sink bath.

I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.

I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple

And my own ted must never know of that.

I was the oldest but the girl.

Perhaps that played into who got which bear.

Bruin is no longer purple,

Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,

At home and in his flat.

For a few years now, both have looked down from

The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.

They leaned together, slightly forward,

As if wanting to come down.

I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.

Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small

bald patches.

It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.

I felt I had let them down, the two teds,

Neglected while cherished still.

I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet

Of the single bed below,

Where they seem more contented, two old men together.

Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.