A Million Nows

I reckon it must be a million nows

Since those Sundays on Upper Montague

Street in 1963, when we three,

Snug in our new nest,

Breakfasted on bagels, avidly

Read The Observer and The Sunday Times,

And thought . . . What did we then think?

Those nows return to me now in their nowish way

Like a dog lost on vacation, a hundred miles away,

That turns up again one day with a sheepish smile,

Having made its way back, against all odds,

And proudly says, “I'm not like other dogs!

I’m me. You're you!

How can you ever lose me,

No matter what you do?

Sunday, January 4, 2025