Aldershot

 

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.

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copyright © 2014 Simon Williams.

First appeared on National Poetry Society website as Adlestrop competition merit, 2014

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