Recently I spent a morning walking round Plymouth. It was unexpected. A meeting I had to attend had been cancelled at the last moment due to Covid and I decided to have a look at the city centre. I had been a student in Plymouth, back in the early 1980's and I knew the place well. Like everywhere it had changed over time. As I meandered I could not help comparing the reality with the memory, perhaps this is nostalgia, but to me it seemed the nearest I'd ever come to time travel.
Practical Time Travel
this used to be a bookshop
that covered two floors
wall to wall books
now it trades for a charity he has never heard of
all that they can scrape together
makes constellations on the floor
next door had been an Oddbins
he would buy the house red
to take to student parties
everything had seemed so permanent then
today is an unplanned visit to Plymouth
which has him comparing now
to the city that lives in his head
and reality comes in a shabby second
The poem may not be complete, I think I need the Secrets perspectives on it. I am standing too close. I did, however, dash this off.
there is no way back
no magic door
no wormhole wardrobe
to effect the switch from here
to some romanticised past
this is where we live
so fight to change tomorrow
as yesterday’s stale bread is hard to swallow
This is not going anywhere, too much tell and not enough show. Here's the Human League from the 1980's.
Until next time.
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