Dai the roadman takes stock after the town carnival

Two fivers, par, also the eight pound coins.
Small change, considerable. The credit cards
we can return, likewise two of the three
pensioner’s bus passes, but it’s tough luck
on Archie McPhee of Ross and Cromarty.
Five T-shirts this year: Hard Rock Café,
Gorseinon Rugby Club, U of Glam, Jesus Saves
and Little Red Riding Hood Kicks Ass.
With the smoking ban in pubs, we’re down
to just the one ashtray, a Watney’s Pale.
We have a cuckoo clock, a Nuneaton Borough
library card, a flour bag marked Bowker’s Mill
and a toilet roll. The knickers we could have
predicted, just one pair this year, pale blue,
medium to large. Two scraps from letters,
one from “Billy”, who sends condolences
upon his auntie’s flatulence, and one
from “Jazza”, who loves her Kev to bits.
Three photographs (two boring, Auntie-Gertie-
on-the-prom-at-Margate stuff), one though,
a very candid one, Katie, the Mayor’s wife,
taken surely thirty years ago. And wasn’t her
skin so soft and silky then? Wasn’t it just?
My oath.

(Previously published in the Prolebooks pamphlet Merlin’s Lane, 2011)

Robert Nisbet is a Welsh poet with over 200 publications in Britain, as well as a number of appearances in the USA, in magazines like San Pedro River Review, Constellations, Illya’s Honey and Clementine Unbound.