Tactical Retreat Poem by david e golledge

We sat on a cold bench,
3am winter, Trafalgar Square.
Speaking of nothings,
chilled to the quick.
The sensual heat of earlier mulled wine
and a Midsummer Night's Dream,
a distant echo.

We sat on the cold bench,
tactfully avoiding
all the things we wanted to say
and truths remained hidden,
concealed in trivia,
the hard facts unspoken.

You, attached,
me yearning for you
but unwilling to articulate,
scared to detach you from him,
the enemy unknown,
knowing I could become your enemy

in time and tide.


sitting on the cold bench
3am Trafalgar Square.
Silently needing a warmth
we neither could provide.