Sunday, 18 September 2011

Plastic Mac

It wasn't quite the weekend when it rained,
when I thought about stepping out,
to stand there just to drench myself
clear in plastic mac, had I possessed one,
and boots of retro yellow,
should I care to be that bright

To see my house as it was,
way back in the fifties
a new-build then, it would have pleased,
had I been there at the time

Between the covers of my book
and Arthur Seaton’s comfy bed,
the grey stone walls remained unchanged,
the rain still made them darker,
but it was warmer now,
far too warm inside

A Saturday night twilight zone,
a comfort zone come Sunday,
mourning the loss of sharp suited men
and girls I never knew -

I could step out,
I'd wear that mac,
but not those yellow boots.
Such colour only thrived in black and white.

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