A Tale of Two Seats by Dave Rigby

 

The station clock says ten to three.

Harold stands on his plinth,

Looking energetic.

Two lads kick a football across the square.

Accurate passes, a touch of ball juggling,

The sort of skill this solid full back never had.

The wind blows the spray from the fountains

Towards my bench, a light rain

In the sunshine.

Two ice cream cones melting faster than

Their owners can consume them,

Dripping.

Another five minutes and it’s

Time for the train.

Mask on,

Ticket through the barrier machine.

In my mind I’m dribbling that football through the subway to the platform.

 

A day later, along the canal, waterproofs dripping, the bench is welcome.

The downpour has stopped, the sun peeks through the grey.

A delve into the rucksack for flask and sausage roll,

Gazing out across the water, to abandoned buildings beyond.

Pipes, no longer carrying liquid or gas, trail ahead.

A duck swooshes down onto the canal, a perfect landing,

Making a racket as it cruises towards the sole barge in sight.

It ignores me, (I’ve not even crumbs left), but keeps up the noise until

The bargee emerges from the cabin, bag in hand,

And scatters the feed in the direction of his visitor.

Same time tomorrow I hear him say.

The duck concentrates on the food,

Understandably.

More movement on the water as a barge chugs by,

On the roof, solar panels are shiny in the brightening sun,

Tomato plants looking healthy,

The bike less so.

Coiled ropes, firewood in boxes, an inquisitive Jack Russell

Sniffing the canal breeze.

Two runners on the towpath, total concentration,

Devices strapped to their arms,

They don’t hear my greeting.

I relax in the warmth of midday,

With no particular place to go.