(For Laura Ashley)

Have you been to Carno?

Seen the slate grey faces in the empty streets

Where only the Spar now offers its mundane retail therapy?

Have you been to the factory?

Seen the boarded units

Where once the floral prints blossomed off the looms?

Have you seen the headstone?

In John The Baptist’s churchyard

Where Laura lies in patterned rest?

But you know the patchwork quilt she made

The antique fabric of our lives,

The golden look of summer that warmed dull winters.

And I know that in a trunk upstairs at home,

There is some treasured Carno lacework:

The dress my wife wore the day I married her.

It’s actually quite exhausting living on the edge

As everybody’s standby shortcut for something polarizing.

The handy synonym on everyone’s lips – well, not everybody’s –

For the concentrated extract of heaven or hell that comes in one little jar.

I’m sick of being bipolar, exiled beyond the comfort of the average.

Being permanently in the top and bottom quartile of every choice gets you down.

To be loved and hated in equal measure is quite confusing to your long-term Wellbeing.

Can you imagine, friend, being at once the toast of the morning and its pits?

I’m just a little jaded – out of sorts, you understand,

And need to take a holiday somewhere medium and bland.