An Aunties Wedding
There was an empty Players box
flattened beneath the dancers
a scent of receding tide on the quay
swept, green, slick as hair oil
bound by ginger sideburns
your dress shaped like a rocket to the moon
a wigwam to play in days before the day
I was five in a white wool suit
bony kneed refused to board her train
or travel the cold tiled floor
to her shining altar
I bet she never noticed the tramps outside the door
or your sisters child that day
now you are chatteringly old – still unhappy
I met you last Saturday
a little boy from nineteen sixty four