spills out of the cafe

bouncing off formica tables

wreathed in steam from pint-sized mugs of tea

rolls out across the concourse

to dance in autumn sunshine

prancing round the buses that will leave

from this place no-one’s heard of

to another one no-one knows

 

and the drivers smoking cigarettes

and the mothers who are barely more than girls

and the old slow men with arthritic hands

in suits that fitted bigger selves

and the women with their bags of value shopping

and the lads whose work is part-time 

stacking shelves

and it’s shit and they know it

and the girls they want to impress 

who make out they don’t care

 

they stop

all of them stop

 

because here

for these few golden moments

in a precious afternoon

Beryl laughs down a benediction

a blessing on a thin, tight-belted town

she hoots an absolution, a defiance, and a joy

and unpaid bills are forgotten

and ends that won’t be made meet are forgotten

and dead dragging hours are forgotten

as Beryl’s laugh spills out of the cafe

 

and everyone feasts and grows fat

as best they can

on the memory of the taste of the promise of dreams

as the sun shines

and the drivers stub out cigarettes

and the empty and unnoticed buses leave.