Afterwards, I値l shake the hand
of total strangers in the street
as though they were my oldest friend
and as and when that friend I値l meet

we値l stroll across Green Park towards
Crown Passage痴 Il Vicolo
to dip our bread in olive oil
and drink wine till our faces glow

and talk of this and maybe that
as though we had all day to kill
then we値l argue who should pay, aware
we値l agree at last to split the bill

and when we say goodbye, we値l know
how rare and wonderful it was
to be together, even though
neither will say so. Why? Because

why even hint the day might come
when public or private fresh disaster
prevents we two from sitting there
to share a salad and a pasta?

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Tom Vaughan
would be pleased to hear them.