As I watched the youthful sounding Yorkshire Poet
on stage in the furthest outpost that Lancashire once provided
but its self the gateway to boundless enthusiasm
and the cradle of civilisation in the wild, tempting lands,
I thought of you.
My stirred thoughts crammed with metaphor, with simile and symbolism,
the passion of friendship that flowed in the duck shaped earphones you
handed over with smiling mocking bow on my fortieth birthday
and the thank you that passes between us when needing
to crib from each other’s notes.