Et in Arcadia ego

Even by the standards of Cambridge

Antiquarian bookshops

The query was

(A mite) refined.

“Bradshaw’s Railway Timetable,

For the whole of Great Britain,

Post First World War?”

And indicated towards the back

Up, just out of reach,

What there was,

Anything along those lines.

But trumps came up,

Untouched, unopened,

And proved it did exist.

Deft flicking got to

Table 899:

But tracing the times

“Belfast dep. 6.15

Donaghadee arr. 7.5 (p.m.)”

A finger palpably twitched

In shock, to realise

That that’s what he had done, as well.

He had paused and considered this, (I know).

A rush from work,

But worth it,

To get down there

Onto the beach, after tea,

And play out the evening’s light

With who ever, what ever.

July 1922.

There’s no going back.

There’s no way.

That journey can’t be done.

But together we’ve left, improbably,

Atomised,

Some casual expectation,

Released,

To spin, careering, wildly,

Out of control,

Calling .....

July 2004