Finsbury Park 1969. (Revised Version).

Wet Streets.
Victorian houses turning black in the rain.
Puddles spreading slowly over the pavements.

You light a cigarette, and then you kiss me,
Coughing smoke into my face.
We laugh like sexless children.

Adolescent humour bright with impish promise;
Two kids larking wildly in the streets,
Yet powerless beneath the crush of time.

You searched; you longed to love your father;
Longed to find him in some foreign land.
I did not search; but I was lost to mine; lost,
unreguarded,
A love child born, but hidden like a crime.
This was the anguish that changed us into lovers,
Love children, deep in love, because we were not loved.
These were the bonds that scarred, yet deftly bound us;
An anguish shared, our inheritance of pain.

And then your mother thought it time to part us.
Time to pack you off across the sea.
Powerless, we let her compromise our futures.

Deaf to my pleas you boarded the train for Dublin:
Our talk of marriage, salt upon our lips.
Our love child crying, tugging at your fingers.
The clamour of Euston sharpening our fears.

"I shall be faithful", you screamed across the barrier.
And then you were gone,
Lost in a throng of strangers.

Wet streets.
Victorian houses turning black in the rain.
Puddles spreading slowly over the pavements.

I shiver in my loneliness.-
The station clock struck nine.
The crowded train departed.

London, you are a book of vagrant memories
That penetrate my skin, like the rain.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
July 8th. 1984.- November 11th. 2003. - 
February 14th. - 24th. 2014.