by Benjamin Elliot Nolan

A bench stands alone
We once sat there
Me and you
Then you turned to raspberry blue

Do you even remember
Happy days, dulcet decembers
Us two sitting there
In fumeur formation
Now just you
Those pretted eyes that I despise
Does it taste the same

Can you explain
Coffee grounds of bitter shame
We were pret
A rolled delight we manger
Our filtered feast
We puffed away at tobacco treats
Does that elven stick taste the same

Us two sitting there
Wistful of your ensnare
Then one day the hall was broken
The wind howled with words unspoken
When will you remember
That woeful day in November
When we saw those signs on the bench
Did it taste the same

You began to despise me
Hate my stench
My thirst, my longing
For it could not be quenched
You thought I was insane
That day in November
Please, lecture me on your moral plain
For on it I ride on a camel
Roll me with your words
For I stand firm

I am, outside of college
In Oriel Street notables gather
From Brookside, Wallingford, Greater Manchester
Liverpool Lime Street, Cirencester
Didcot Parkway, Evesham
In the land where they wait for trose
Of markets and country shows
Where a freddo a tenner
And a pint a fiver
From the countryside they come
Rusticitas

Clad in clothes which face the north
Brandishing The Guardian they march
Alistair Campbell in ear, chai latte in hand
Here I stand
To guard against words too unfortunate to say
Does that elven stick taste the same?