i.m. Joe and Martha
They could have been Baucis and Philemon,
my grandparents in another life,
but not the lovey-dovey kissy-kissy version
we’ve come to know of that mythical man and wife.
She would have said: ‘Joe fill the coal bucket
and put on a fire for these here two callers.
Away you go.’ And he, turning, would retort:
‘All right woman. Hol’ on to your knickers.
You can put the kettle on and wet the tea
and our visitors here might like a biscuit.’
‘You sing and I’ll dance’, she’ll reply, all too ready
for this game of affectionate backchat, all too cute.
And then they would become two trees forever,
but not like in the lovey-dovey kissy-kissy version.
I imagine them tangled (‘Move over.’ ‘You move over.’),
keeping each other going, carrying on.