spin on a sixpence

She could spin on a sixpence

Of course she could


The egotistical fellow

Descended the

Spiral staircase

Wrought iron

Charcoal grey

Saw her at the

Unlatched door

Titfer crooked

Breeze tangled hair

Coat loose

A bustling girl

In a flurried retreat

Her war finally won on the

Back of battles lost


Autumn leaves

Whirled hallway bound

A mess to clear up later

A suitcase on castors

Straining to its very seams

Filled to the gunnels

Waving a hasty goodbye

Rosy cheeked

An almost abashed smile

That spelled ‘sorry’



No words though


She tickled easily

The tip of his tongue

In her ear

Sent her blissfully insane

Even the passage of time

Had not taken

That memory away

Nor that she volunteered for

Anything and everything

Charity her persona


Never understanding fully

The range of emotions

Of other men

Left his disposition aporetic

Devoid of answers

Interpretation unimaginable

It never crossed his mind

To call out her name

To call her back


An epoch later

Still he would wait

Wait and watch

Endeavouring to make sense

As to why

Why then?


That he practically cared

Left a void

Felt he should really

Definitively care

Yet could not

A trait that

Blighted his life

Then and now


Although it proved to

Be the case that

He never could expunge

The memory of her

She, the closest thing to love

He ever knew or

Would come to know



    1. Thank you young Cara – the last person to call me incredible was the quack in the casualty ward who revived me following my fall from outer space – although he struggled to believe that anyone could forget to lock the door to his time machine!

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