Town Hall Pond

Circular like that table which
Long ago crowned the halls of English Kings,
The pond sits dark and still as witches’ philtre,
Filled with weeds and fish and forgotten things
Like water-lilies in the morning light,
Crisp packets and decaying bread,
Murky imps that come out at night
To lasso lily-pads with fish gut threads.
Like the reflection of a father and son
In matching shell-suits reading children’s books,
Passing away the time of day
As the leaves of the plane trees slowly shook.
Like grey-scaled giants that children used to feed,
The loch-ness monster all hungry and alone
With clockwork jaws kept oiled by fish blood,
Who when she’s angry makes water foam.
Like a sorcerer’s red scarf floating amongst the scum,
Fallout from an alien spaceship that crashed into the Town Hall,
A cricket bat from when the world had just begun
And the story of Armageddon retold on a gumball.
The fountain which used to be a urinating boy
Has been replaced with something out of place,
A square fountain bereft of such rude joy
But doubtless more P.C. to save the Council face.
When the wind blows the fountain spray shudders
The quickly its’ time-honoured paths retain
Even when storm-clouds collect in the world-reflecting waters
The sunshine makes diamonds from raindrops again.

Hopeful.