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.
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