PIMLICO

I remember leaving your flat in Pimlico,

Stepping out into the silent square;

It was autumn, leaves in the gutter,

A soft pink sun on the blank faces

Of the tall Georgian row.

The fenced park was locked

To those who lacked the key,

So I walked around it,

Dawdling off to Victoria.

The past is not another country

But another person who is you no more,

Evidenced by the slip of time

In which I never saw you again.

- Larry Buttrose