© Helmut Hauke / helmuthauke.com

Two rows of cars parked on a dewy lawn,
Curios on stall upon stall vie for buyers:
A wood-carved Robin Hood,
A new-ish knife block set with one knife gone.

Inside my dozy and misguided brain
I see that knife involved in crime,
Red bloodstains on the floor …
What did I think that for?

I shiver while you
Wave me on from afar.

A nervy ironing board in flowery gown,
Long strung out by her lowly chores
Balances souvenirs
And fallen chandeliers.

Every passing girl will ask her mom
To buy one for her palace hall,
To shine on knights and queen,
Robin Hood in between,

Saying:

“Many thanks, Ma’am, for having me!”
“You’re welcome, Robin, have some tea!
It’s a nice palace this, wouldn’t you say?
With bees in the garden, trees to climb,
And on a really quiet day
You can hear the motorway!”

I used to watch from an overpass,
Watch cars and lorries speeding by.
My childhood over, I felt time
Rise from that rolling surf below,
How – while I stood dreamy-eyed –
A million moments lived and died.
Killed dead: a plan, a joke, a tired van,
A moth, still chewing on some cardigan.
Time strode across my overpass,
Forgot it, like a mirror does.

So now I’m here with you,
A souvenir, or two,
Hand in hand, in between …

Two rows of cars parked on a dewy lawn,
Curios on stall upon stall, sellers, buyers,
Cute dolls and cameos,
A dad on day release from teenage scorn.

You buy some art stuff I’m not sure about.
The sun emerges to shine on
A hazy Sunday’s toy,
That Sunday’s girl and boy.