I'm pounding up Albany Road,
Can feel the steps of countless others reverb
Up my feet and legs. How old is this walkway?
Richmond Road is surely pre-Victorian,
I can still smell the carriages trundling,
But Albany? I taste Lear's madness at the rain,
It's trailing watery spider-legs down my nose,
Through my hair. The flaccid downpour
Mutes noise, car horns and the steady thrum
Dissolves into backgrounds of shop lights,
People sheltering or running.
I'm going the long way round, past the doctor's
And the sports club with the post box
I used to post letters to London and Derby into.
Not long now. I cut across City Road,
Neatly through the alley into Russell Street
Back to Richmond Road. I'm nearly home.
Full circle back to where I belong,
To my redhead waiting with a glass of of Chenin.