I am most aware of the milestoned
history of that country Pembroke road
in summer, in dusty sunshine. Great-
uncle Gareth, pacing out his pastoral,
walking to work from Trooper’s Inn,
he apprenticed to a shipwright, and
walking, some evenings and on Sundays,
to his courtship of the girl from Burton.
They’d not marry yet awhile, he being
bound by his indentures not to wed
(and not indeed to fornicate). So he,
patient, pacing out time and hope,
listening to the breathing of the beasts.
Until he, a journeyman now, earning,
said No to the girl from Burton, bought
one of the early motor cycles, flung
his leg across its cushioned seat, set
off to court a pretty girl from town,
that flighty tart, Great-aunt Joanne,
whom he wedded, bedded, lived with,
with every indication of content,
for fifty-seven years.
If you have any comments on this poem, Robert Nisbet would
be pleased to hear from you.