Morris dancing kills boredom.
Fact: take an off-key accordion,
coloured napkins tied to white sleeves,
bells, castanets, full grown men
jumping in circles all Saturday long
on the Market Square by the Town Hall.
Now, how do you guys feel
in this corner of good old England
estranged from the Home Counties
and kept afloat on the Thames?

Back to the working week.
It's business as usual (9 am 5 pm)
down the three hours free High Street
one bank, two banks, an estate agency
a second branch of the first bank
Oxfam, WH Smith, another charity shop
then a co-operative funeral care
opposite the fish and chips
and before a score of Lebanese, Thai, Greek
Indian, Italian, Chinese takeaways (or eat in)
there where dancers, commuters, revellers
somehow end up after the sixth Friday pint
White Horse, Black Swan, Red Lion, Blue Boar
all serving the same lukewarm Greene King.

Now, if you are from here
you might know there's a river somewhere
behind Tesco, the Con Club, Saint Mary
(formerly C of E now Methodist, Anabaptist etc),
but the creek hides itself bend after bend
lulling ducks and Canadian geese winding
through lawns and skip hire wasteland.
The bell tower chimes half past seven
A squirrel jumps from a fence to an old MG
Today The Herald asked for 'More trees'
To be honest, I couldn't see that happening
Morris dancing in progress: bear with me.

The Ghosts of Summertime Past

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