THE LEAVING OF WOLVERHAMPTON
It's in the leaving of these sawdust rooms
It's the emptying of the meters.
To read and return these much-leafed books
And hold those moments in the shadow of St. Peters
It's in the words of friends we made there at the forge
It's the final crossing off on the list
To find then discard those old meeting places
With uncertainties of futures in our midst
But in time there were times
When there was only arriving
From rain-sodden streets or the supermarket beat
And life too had times when it was truly alive!
Filled with warm evening welcomes...
...and drunken goodnights
Now the wind whips round from where I have sailed
And the platforms stand clear
The Metro un-taken, on the back of the bus
Glass clings to the sides of the beer
It's in the turning of the newsagent signs
As the weeds reclaim the garden
Is there change in the air, or the people who breathe it?
As our too change to guard 'gainst the leaving of this town
By mainline or branch, we fly south for the winter
And the spring to follow its end
By which time all this will be just memories told
To those people yet un-met.
