Off the hook
I’m sorry;
I’m not available
To take your call right now:
The air in there
Is sour and sick,
Thickened with work,
Tainted by worry
Like the gust of last night’s beer
From the pub door Sunday morning.
Now I’m out
Of reach of the bank, the Revenue’s men,
The trivial tyranny of whencanyougetitdoneby,
And the world falls away
Like the sheep-speckled hillside
Beneath the red kite’s wing.
Just a coat between me and the wind
That playfully snatches at collar and cap;
Boots pressed into the old, soft turf
Like the fifty-pence-piece in my Grandad’s palm;
The dog stops, turns, looks at me and laughs
And a lone crow tips me a knowing wink.
Can’t say
When I’ll get back to you.
This should give you some idea of the week I’ve had. Wish it was half-term again, and we were back in Wales.
Gonecycling (again) 
And I thought my time in the hospital was bad. 🙂
Charles, I had no idea you’d been offline because you were in hospital. Hope all’s well with you, my friend; we’ll be thinking of you. Thanks so much for taking the time to read and comment.
I am thoroughly jealous. You could almost hear the serenity. Lovely stuff. 🙂
Thank you, Kiersty – it is a pretty special place. Glad to be able to share it with you, even if only on-screen!
*Big Smile*
I was with you all the way Nick.
I have booked a holiday in Whitby next week and look forward to just those sort of days 🙂
David
You’re always kind and generous with your comments, David – thank you. We lived for a while in Pickering and I know Whitby well; hope every day brings you that sense of freedom and escape. Looking forward to reading about it!
That was great, escape escape! 🙂
Hey Ina – great to see you here! Thanks so much for your comment; glad you enjoyed the poem.