November 5th.

A labyrinth of neon slashing the sky
With disordered art work
Capricious,
Short lived, but burned on the retina;
Cheap fireworks vandalize the autumn night
For a loud half hour
Then dissipate into swathes of acrid smoke
That leave a foul taste on the tongue.


Wearing my loneliness on my sleeve
Like a torn thread,
I remember you fiercely tugging at my shoulder
As you danced me into the neighbour field
For one last hour of larking.
You did not tell me then your private plans;
A one way ticket to an unnamed destination
Already in your pocket.


A distant bonfire crackling under trees
Excites a party of children,
Your grandson leading the riot
As the rockets fizzle and fall.
I shamble over the neighbour field
Half aware of your shadow ghosting the landscape
Cold as the early frost.
I have wrapped your favourite Winter Coat around me,
But it no longer keeps out the weather.


Old "Thorny" Price, freelance Fairground Barker
And feral mischief maker of my youth,
Your absence cuts me deeper than the East Wind
Shaking red leaves out of branches.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter
November 4th. - 7th. - 10th.- 14th.  2013.