Featured Poem

Sir Incognito

The tap of your stick 

alerts me. You swivel right,

walking with purpose.


Dark glasses disguise,

calf-length boots and winter coat.

Protective armour.


You look up to find

 me, waiting at the window.

We wave, smile and nod.


Who and what are you,

my new old friend of five weeks? 

You spell out eighty.


I mime disbelief.

The years have not compressed you,

your calm dignity.


Sir Incognito,

I salute you as I rise

from my writing desk.


We both will survive

on unexpected greetings

filling the absence.


While my hair grows grey

uncut, you pace the weeks, months.

We both mark time’s tread.