antiques | Roland's Ragbag

(The Decimal Day Legacy)

I remember the 1/-
that slash-dash sign
a favourite of mine
time gone
every shop had one
but
time passed
I know
it breathed its last
50 years ago

Yes
the shilling that was
two tanners or
a bob to me and those
as money comes and goes
5p to you now
twelve copper coppers
hence
one dozen pence
twenty to the sixties pound

But then
deemed unsound
and all became
continent bound
until
sad sight
they turned out the tills
overnight
onto and into counters
joined the farthings
and the thrupenny bits
and called it quits
the death of old-time dough
sad to see them go
Gone to memory’s locker
to tomorrow’s antiques roadshow

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Prufrock On Lockdown

Today drags its pale length
as does the serpent
slow, stately, watchful
a day like any other
the day that follows yesterday
always preceding tomorrow
like a tedious argument

Unplanned
both shy of work
and play bereft
hot-desking
and agile-working
not working for me
my day now
structured by eating
measured by meals
by medication
by those forever coffee spoons

Nothing planned
so nothing to regret
meaningless moments
with nothing arranged
only possibilities are exciting
the five o’clock briefing
another dose of dead antiques
another bargain hunted down
one more home under the hammer
another escape to the country
to the chateau or the sun
but from my armchair
escape is no longer an option
glimpsed desires unfulfilled
and not a matter of money

The seaside too
still eludes me
retaining its magnetism
but with the pull of the tide
unable to reach me
The Lakes a mirage in my memory
a Prelude taught to feel,
perhaps too much,
the self-sufficing power of solitude
but this solitude no longer blissful

It now descends
the yellow fog
obscuring the future
taking with it the meaning of my days
rubbing its back against the window panes
of this my settled cell
licking it’s tongue
into the corners
of my every uneventful evening.
my every desultory day