The day I found that ship wrecked

pound note, the eye of the Queen

giving me a warning glance or the drifting

smile of a woman I will never meet,

like the furtive teasing of a model

stripped down to the waist that adorned

the tossed away magazines and that got caught

in the branches of the Willow trees

that lined sentry still on display

on the banks of the River Rae,

on the dusty pavement

on the bridge

that separates Moor Green Lane

and Dad’s Lane…