Those of you who are familiar with my poetic work will know that I’m not the biggest fan of this time of year. A poetry friend recently told me in no uncertain terms that I was “doing autumn wrong”, so for her I’m going to post my one and only nice autumn poem. This was written as “a love poem in a time of austerity”, and was published in my second collection Satires. The references to Jeremy Kyle and Wetherspoon’s date it (because as we all know, I Will Not Drink In Wetherspoon’s!), but the tree in the photo is the actual one which inspired the poem.
October afternoon; dusk fading.
You light a cigarette
at the bus stop, the briefest flare;
a thin smoky spiral. Ash
powders red leaves underfoot.
I wrap my scarf tight
across a threadbare throat.
Count the cars passing – five, six, seven –
headlights sparking silver streaks
against the bright auburn of your hair.
These hours belong to us:
snatched from going-nowhere jobs
we can’t afford to lose.
We stayed in bed, clinked steaming mugs,
giggled at Jeremy Kyle.
Breakfast was scrambled egg on toast;
lunch, a slide down wet-leaved pavements,
a Wetherspoon’s fish and chip special.
We toasted one more year, being alive:
a glass of cheap fizz, a pint that lasted all afternoon.
This evening: pennies, popcorn, cinema.
Bus tickets paid with a year’s worth
of back-of-the-sofa change.
Leaves confetti round,
a dark scarlet tumble. You laugh;
clasp my cold hand, warm it
between yours; pick a thread
that’s trailing down my sleeve. Kiss, and whisper
this is our show – our red carpet –
all these lights, just for us.
