Cobbled step and sandwiches. 

When I am old, (older)

And you are grown, (more so)

I’ll remember the day we sat on cobbled step, (warm but crowded)

And ate sandwiches while killing time (how much time is left, I wonder?)

The man on the tightrope, (balancing)

Had a microphone and I thought, (musing)

That back in my day they didn’t have those,

And somehow street theatre was real

And the audience less harsh. 

The bright sun lighter and the smell more ripe. 

But I didn’t say it because, (rightly)

This is your now and all these things, (not tasted often enough)

Are the real for you (absolute).

The sparkling first time (dust unseen),

Of a Covent Garden step and sandwich (cheap but tasty),

With the world of opportunity exploding by your feet. 

So we tossed a coin,

Traipsed past market stands, (expensive, alluring)

Hung hard and mesmerised over railings,

Listened to the string quartet. 

And I indulged myself,

(There used to be… I said, and pointed at the long gone miniature dolls house shop)

Just a day. Killing time. 

When I’m old(er) I’ll remember bringing you to my past haunts. 

And when you are older (maybe), you’ll bring your girls. (And all our ghosts will walk together).