When I retire, I shall cultivate codgers’ whiskers
With sea-salty eyebrows, flyaway style,
And potter by a towpath with bacon buns and mugs of tea.
I’ll know everyone by sight and quite a few by name,
And spend the daylight hours tinkering with weed hatches and gas mantles
On a narrowboat named ‘Rosie’.
And somewhere south of Tardebigge, or Bingley Five Rise, say,