Delilah

 
daffodil 2

 

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.

 

 

Peter Finch


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