I keep your letter folded away
For a later that never came.
In a Jiffy bag
Along with an unwritten postcard of Lough Owel
And a Young’s beer mat with your number
Written with a pen you borrowed from Maria
In The Spread Eagle.
I kept them for a later
Where we would laugh at our luck…
Fuck…

…in  long dry summers.
At the end of a long green lane
In the shade of high Elm trees
On this horsehair mattress
That smells of tobacco

And now it is a later
Different to the one we willed
And could have owned
Where we are grey
And Elm trees are long gone
Like Somerstown
I keep your letter