Tuesday, 8 November 2011


Poem 17 of 230:  THROUGH WHAT WAS

During Europe’s summer, ‘88,
    At a wall my bag was checked:
A brief smile at what gave it weight...
    Sun-cream lid back - mood not wrecked.
I walked past plain buildings and cars,
    And entered a small food-store.
Its goods were plain, also: no sweet bars;
    The essentials - not much more.
As I bought crispbread with money changed,
    A row began, at counter,
Between two, it seemed, Germans estranged -
    Clothes, to me, the sole pointer.
I headed back through the wall that was,
    Then signed a reunion book.
Reflecting, I’m happy/sad because
    The Left-cause, too, has been shook.

(C) David Franks 2003