My friend married Shakespeare, <br />amid much ado. <br />I saw her last in Luton, <br />twenty storeys high, <br />three children playing below. <br />We looked across the city, <br />caught a seagull’s eye. <br />We talked about the past, <br />our shared years, <br />before growing up interfered. <br />Where were our old friends, <br />our teachers? <br />She was my age and yet <br />an age away from me, <br />she, strong, protector of her children, <br />I, confused, unmade, drifting. <br /> <br />Later, when the children left, I heard <br />she loved another famous writer’s name - <br />Scott, <br />this time the real William, <br />but not <br />the dead Victorian. <br />They lived in Wales, I think. <br />After that, nothing.<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memory-chest-what-s-in-a-name/
