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Cake House St James’s Park | February 1972

We met as arranged in the Park, sick   at the Cafe near the Lake

I didn’t want too, help but I’d promised.

Her nose was red, with the rasping wipe of paper tissues.

Her voice nasal and congested with cold.

Close up,  she smelt of Honeysuckle.

She took a table near the window, whilst  I queued  for tea.

Unaware that I was watching,  she took a small mirror, framed in orange plastic, from her bag and inspected her face.

When I returned with the tea, the conversation was strained and distant.

My mind drew back, then upped and ran.

My body  tried, but could not follow.

Tea drunk, we parted company  promising to meet again soon.

Ian Miller © 2008 all rights reserved

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