Yes, I remember Aldershot –
the name, because one afternoon
of heat the Heathrow coach stopped there
unexpectedly. It was inopportune.
The door released, someone’s iPod hissed,
few left or came; it was a comfort stop.
In the bare bus station, what I saw
was a departure board with Aldershot on top
and nettles, shepherd’s purse, couch grass,
cow-parsley and some others with long stems.
A man with goggles and a petrol strimmer
was taking out the worst of them.
And for that minute a seagull squawked
close by and then, like some round trip,
further and further, all the gulls
from town centre, way out to the council tip.
copyright © 2014 Simon Williams.
First appeared on National Poetry Society website as Adlestrop competition merit, 2014