The Circle Poem by Tony Noon

I see the sunny days.
The sober managers of building societies,
banks, maybe. Button bright
in their certain trajectories

I see the neat wives, shining.

Millponds of virgin tarmac
hold back trees, allowing
the long hours to hide
small dramas like bones
in lawn tidy gardens.

I see the blue sky corners.

Post Boxes, hungry for gossip,
are gateway and godsend here.
Their slow digestion filling
these avenues with promise
for days, weeks maybe,
until response confirms the circle.

I see the sunny days
in ages tailed back on broken roads;
in the weedful remnants of dead factories;
and in social media I feel I can't ignore.


Tony Noon