Sold
With little in common, we ambled along;
Still, I recall fondly, Tony and I,
Beneath an autumnal, evening sky,
Each smoking one of Tony’s slim Hamlets,
The scent of which, blending with bonfire smoke,
Gave an aroma one never forgets,
As burning embers, glowing whilst we spoke;
Amiably putting our worlds to rights;
Crackled with warmth on the calmest of nights.
From spring through summer, the lawn being short
As a bowling green or a tennis court;
Round Tony’s we’d gather, for roast and wine,
And after lunch, if the weather was fine;
With shuttlecock, ball, bats, rackets, we’d play;
Or hide and seek, with the children, in or
Outdoors; and on every Easter Sunday,
Adults, and children alike, would search for
Eggs, which were easily found, and duly
Scoffed, (at least on the part of yours truly).
Tomatoes, seedlings, and flowerpots filled
The little greenhouse I helped Tony build:
Spinach, greens, broccoli with a purple sprout;
Runner-beans that never seemed to run out;
Flourished in the area beyond the main:
A well-tended patch, hidden by a hedge,
And sheltered by a pine, that enabled rain
And sunlight to nourish home-grown veg,
Yet trapped all the magic drawing me there,
Where edibles grew with meticulous care.
When Tony found weeding, digging, mowing,
Cutting and planting, too heavy-going,
I fortnightly mowed the lawns, front and back;
Tony would make me a Nescafé black,
And we’d talk like we did in autumns gone by;
Conversing in comfortable companionship;
He graciously, gratefully praising my
Mowing and occasionally, letting slip
The observation: “Oh, you’ve missed a bit”;
Which slightly rankled with me, I admit.
On a late October dry afternoon
Last autumn, I mowed the lawns of Tony’s soon
To be sold abode, and when I was done,
I made a black coffee and sat in the sun,
Imagining my wife; a girl in the swing
Of her childhood years, and nearby, there,
Was a plot where fairies used to sing
Secret lullabies to children; and where
Now stands a greenhouse, empty and lonely
As the house-for-sale-where I first met Tony.
