A Moment’s Harm in the Graveyard
Say hello to Hendon for me, I said.
Did you make it to the Olympics? she replied.
We met in a coffee house in Golders Green,
sat and watched the parade of Jewish families,
shalom, hello, moving between bakeries,
cafés and restaurants, halal.
Everything made you laugh; my northern accent,
all of its foibles, and the names of tube-stops,
especially and always Cockfosters.
I did visit the Olympic village; she returned
to London one summer,
and walked Traf.Square,
St.Pauls, Pal Mal – went as far out as Windsor.
There was a garden once, I remind her in email,
deep in the heart of Farringdon,
in the grounds of a church, where we sat
for the first time alone and kissed.
You were all jostle and frisk, but
a true English Gent must push to resist.
Pulling towards dusk, in august, amongst
the gravestones, we kissed, kissed
Christy Hall is a Northern born poet currently residing on the South Coast. Early last year he put out his debut chapbook with Fire Hazard Press in Hull; he is currently penning what he hopes will be his first full length collection. His poem ‘Drop Pin’ was used in a literary pamphlet that helped to clinch Hull’s bid to become European City of Culture for 2017. He has a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. This year he will be published in journals on both sides of the Atlantic.
Christy's work is featured in Elbow Room Vol Seven