Poem published…

Remember? Sitting on those steps. Loitering, someone said.

Eating sweets, blowing bubble-gum, not knowing we’d be back as art students to roam the William Morris museum legit.

Those semi-circular steps, no one shooed us off like when we were kids. Who’d have thought? So close to home? We’d tour God’s Own Junkyard looking to make our art.

Sit at the pond, sketching ducks, reeds, reflections cast on the water.

Years later they found you at Lloyd’s Park. Were the ducks great-grandparents by then?

I’d had a letter from you the week before, full of news and enthusiasm. As you always were.

So the shock hit hard, I vomited. How could you die alone in our spot, sketching…

Did you know you had a time-bomb in your brain?