The Hope

On Wandsworth Common God and I

talked till in the evening shade

He shone like an Anglepoise.

Then I prayed:


help me to make it to the top

and a pad north of the river;

sync my mind to contemplate

success, and not shiver;


shape me a soul as rounded as

the Circle Line, when in the week

I go down into darkness at

South Kensington or Baker Street;


grant me a wife and let’s say two

offspring, one a son;

smooth Time into a tranquil lake

for me to walk upon;


bless us as we safely ski

each Christmas in the Alps,

and may our summer holidays

to bliss be catapults;


and when, years later, I take stock,

in Chelsea or in Camden

permit me one small moment of

limited abandon –


to head back here and meet you for

a session in The Hope,

all drinks on me, that my life’s been

such a rich kaleidoscope.

Published in Snakeskin 262, June 2019