Six Poems

To Whom It May Concern

Last night you returned to the island;
I was with you. My brother, Joe, who still lives
in Balham, showed us round; he'd never
left the island. He was impatient with me,
or I with him, as we went from Aunt Amy,
in bed but not bedridden, learning
languages - another instance, she claimed
of island progress, no need to leave now.

Some time before, another gathering
brought more family, with you looking well.
Last night a game new to us played high up
on a coconut tree, tall and bendy,
didn't appeal. They explained the rules; I wrote
them down, in pretence. Good that you still walk
into my life. And sorry one of us
is in the wrong place - a problem with dreams.
...