The Leaving of Wolverhampton

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.