Pretty soon we’re going to be loads older.
Thank heavens we thought to bring sandwiches.
But I don’t appreciate ambiguous hand signals or, for that matter,
unwanted text messages.
This is clear enough, don’t you think?
Beauty is a sure sign of grace.
I’m not ashamed of my good points. Life experience has to count
for something.
I’m not ashamed of your good points.
Let’s move on. Is anyone listening?
Why the natives don’t want to live here is a mystery.
The weather is set fair, or fair enough for now.
Perhaps a past life is threatening to come around again.
Or am I dreaming?
I’m not crazy about the idea of travelling in pairs.
There’s much to be said for single file.
When I was younger I was more fit for purpose.
Recriminations will follow in due course sure as night upon day.
She looks at her shoes.
I look at her ankles.
We agree they’re very nice shoes.
I remember when I bought them, she says. I was young, carefree,
and never imagined things would turn out like this.
We’ve been here far too long is the general consensus.
Eternal night is threatening to fall.
That sounds ominous.
But I feel better now I’ve got stuff off my chest.
TREASURE ISLAND by Martin Stannard | Garden Lavender Poetry Reed Diffuser
Martin Stannard lives in Nottingham, UK. He edited the magazine joe soap’s canoe, which published and championed New York School poets including Ashbery, Koch, Paul Violi, Charles North and Tony Towle in the 80s and 90s. His own poetry and reviews have been published widely since the late 1970s. He taught English Language, Literature and Culture at a university in China from 2005 to 2018, and now lives in quiet retirement with his cat, Xiao Mei.
