Drink coffee number one flat white,
From a paper cup,
Outside the Cardigan Guild Hall,
Christmas tree’s still up,
All of last years flowered face masks,
Look rather tardy,
I swig a nip from Easter flask,
I’m feeling mardy.
Plastic snowflakes fly forlornly,
Midst the bunting flags,
Shoppers queueing uniformly
Cling on to their bags.
Yet still some children smile gaily,
Skip along grey street,
Parents get more glum news daily,
Warily they meet,
Weary of the constant babble,
Spewed from media,
Pumped by inconsistent rabble,
Jab vaccinia.

Harry Rogers, In the Red Bedroom, 9th April 2021

I sat in The William
Malcolm Hardee
buying drinks
Arlene was behind the bar
Running fingers
Through her hair
The Four Tops on the jukebox
The Same Old Song
Was playing
I asked Arlene out with me
Said there was a
film to see
She said “I’ll meet you there”
but I don’t know
Where there is.
There could be anywhere
It might be with
The Faeries
I never found there
And then she was gone.

Who Knows
Where There is?
Who Knows
Where There is?
Arlene? She was gone.

Harry Rogers, In the old study, 2011.