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generations

FIRST DATE

Walking behind you – your chignon, your tanned

forearms, your calves, your white, pleated skirt

swaying,  just the suggestion of that

bottom – into a sunlit pub on

Wenlock Edge for gin and orange and a pint;

 

watching Macbeth through inexorable

drizzle in a Shropshire market town –

‘It will be rain tonight’. ‘Let it come down’;

 

drying off in another pub, hearing

someone recite Housman loudly:

‘When smoke stood up from Ludlow…;’

 

driving home, your sleeping head on my shoulder,

your future already in my hands – nearly

two generations ago.