THIS LOCATION

Things had been put out of joint - what's the point
of moving on, all gone, no one left to annoint;
suddenly it was fifty years later, but no arrest,
I was the one who always seemed to know best.

I wanted to stand by the grave, whisper admonition,
why should I waste my time when you're in that condition,
to think that we'll never meet again is a win,
at least I won't have to endure that silly grin.

Now no one would come, it was all over, 
like 'jubbly' orange ice and my Fair Isle pullover,
like my school friend who put a bag over his head,
to gain sexual excitement and ended up dead.

Like the place we used to be, my geography,
my history, my geometry, my art and my history.