After The War

It's twelve o'clock on Trafalgar Square.
The man is there.
He's always there.

Every day, in thick grey clothes
he goes to the seat in the pigeon sea.
Every day for twenty four years,
sheds memories of tears,
of love enduring over fears.

"Meet me after the war" she said.
"We'll meet on Trafalgar Square.
I'll see you one day at twelve o'clock."
Her words were as loud as the noise all around,
as hot as the lock of her auburn hair
preserved in his book with care.
"At twelve I'll see you there."

His hat has changed.
The world has changed,
and everything different, except in his mind.
He sits and waits and contemplates,
and leaves today behind.

"Meet me after the war..." she cried.
Over noise and panic, the dust filled sky.
She dashed and ran, the city aglow.
"Meet me..." her words from so long ago.

Each golden word is precious,
as one o'clock is soon,
as every noon on Trafalgar Square
he's there like an ocean without any shore.
A glance at a face is a moment alone
in city of millions more.

For twenty four years he's been coming,
he'll come for sixteen more,
and when he dies he'll hear her again,
and meet her after the war.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.