Something For the Week-End

Like autumn leaves they fall, Scattered all around As I sit like some tart sitting in The window as faceless people Pass silently by in the Swansea rain Wrapped in their thoughts. We talk football, how Swansea lost, My last holiday. I stare at the old man in the mirror Youth long since abandoned, The drooping mouth that once kissed, And spoke of love. The ritual concluded with the words “Something for the week-end sir?” It took me many years to Work out what that meant.