Terminus -

Camped out on a lower slope

Dog-tired at the toposcope

Hot soup in the aftermath

Salad days in many ways

Then time creeps up unseen

And it puts me back at the front of the bus

Hands I once held no longer there

Grey falls on the green

As I try and get used to ‘me' and not ‘us'

Where I’m going I’m not sure that I care

Still thought I could play out wide

Felt sure I could stay onside

But stiff limbs and a shin which looks like

Inter’s end on derby day says

Time’s crept up unseen

And it’s stuck me back at the front of the bus

Bound who knows where

Free of charge

The situation’s lean

Though it could be worse

So I don’t make a fuss

Still evading capture

Still at large

Somebody’s mumbling Galatians

Somewhere a wolf-print fleece needs 90 degrees

Pushchair-related confrontations

Pastoral conceits, Italian fancies, comic glees

No stroll of a summer’s eve

Neck brace and a shower sleeve

Hot soup in the afterlife

I’ve got my fingers crossed, because

Old Father Time’s arrived

And he’s sat by me at the front of the bus

Here I am as there I was before

Things I hold dear

Held in place by means of a surgical truss

Sorry, not in service any more