Saturday, 3 June, 2000.
was it really you?
so ill and neurotic
with your cheek stained yellow
from the sunshine of your travels.
it will soon be forty years
since I first saw you in Edinburgh,
and I sat in the best seat
of the Assembly Rooms at Bath
and watched you walk past me.
(It was a marvellous Festival concert.)
There is nothing to say.
You should have married me and you didn't.
Preferring a marriage and career
in the Third World of gender and poverty.
A globetrotting socio-economist,
one of the gifted of the world,
I have come to nothing
but you are loved forever.
You looked so ill
but you are so succesful.
I love you
and I will be thinking of you at the world's end.
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