The Cup For Tea

I used to sit here
reading about Ancient Egypt.
I used to sit here
writing notes.
I used to sit here
on older benches,
without the lux’ry of a canvas roof.

I used to sit in
the wind of the morning,
hearing them
shout out numbers.
I used to – “Numbuh 75!” –
walk to and from along the sleepers.

I’m sat here now,
still writing –
but the notebook’s numbered ‘8’.
The cup for tea’s one
of few things
that haven’t changed in two decades.

“78!”

The Matthew by the cranes and the water’s still, still gifting the city to the world.

“79!”

One day I might
fin’lly write
about someplace else.
But – “80?” – here
I’m sitting now,
looking at ‘n writing on the harbour.

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