Friday, 7 September 2012

An Oxford Autumn, 1983

And so let us remember that damp October
And the leaves in heaps on the pavement
As we weaved wildly down the Parks Road,
Coats still reeking with esters
we acquired from an unfortunate condensation in the Dyson Perrins.

And the Christian Union presentation
Earnest folk in sweatshirts,
a random electric guitar with a folksy rhythm
but no coherent theology.

Above the altar a plastic Jesus,
Superglued to a century-old marble slab
Yes, it's kitsch and tasteless
but ripping it down's going to do no-one any good,
is it?

Late at night, a strange experience
Four pints of instant coffee and three rounds of cheese toasties
An essay crisis and a vision of hell.
Or, in the language of the Chemists, back to the DP in the morning. And that morning's just an hour away.

I grow old, I grow old
And my heart seems very cold.

1 comment :

  1. I don't know what it is about the leaves in Oxford, but they seem to go soggy there more rapidly than anywhere else. I remember cycling down Parks Road (and everywhere else) when I were a lass and the gutters were always overflowing with slippy soon-to-be-humus.

    Belbroughton Road was never particularly bonny in autumn, either.

    love Mags B x


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