Went into the cafe bottom of the hill.
Took a decent jacket but my shoes were old.
Two men in suits fiddled with
their lighters restrained by the new tide.
A Polish waitress good saesneg asked if I wanted coffee,
I said latte pronounced it badly. Speaker above the bar began
singing Tom Jones’ Delilah. On the wall
was his portrait done in unravelled cassette.
He was a hero a maker of Welsh anthems
but in the café only I was able to connect.
The suits went out front to smoke,
long pulls and arm gestures,
standing in the Cardiff sun.
I drank the Latte and remembered how it
was when I lived here a youth men
around me in mufflers and hair-curled women.
Were those times more real doubt it.
Up ahead the same work still to be done.