Chance Meeting
To Belfast, with a visitor’s thanks.
At the top of High Street, in sight of Zara still, I’ll spot a copper penny and kneel down to pocket it.
And briskly you’ll come walking down towards me and swiftly sweep me with you as you pass. And as we
walk I’ll listen to your somersaulting voice and watch your hands milling the air, pointing, forming,
loving and love the way you’re so in love with here.
Your hurried heels will toc-a-toc the tarmac and as always I will struggle to keep up. As always too,
you’ll slow and turn a little late to see am I still following. And I’ll smile and nod and hide my fear
and in my hiding I will still be there. And I’ll stand and breathe and tell you what I’ll have to say and
by your look will know that you have understood.
Across the street from the Albert Clock, we’ll both look up and turn and hurry on to where we said we’d be.
Turning out my pockets when at home, I will see: Life is more benign than you make it out to be.
