Three Gilda's stand in their orchard at the centre of Carral
surrounded by the unfinished business of Spanish flats.
Gilda was the butler (and gardener too) at Maplesden
back in the day when Geno Washington had his Ram Jam Band.
Antonio and I as reckless youths went about in the grey mini pick-up
and tore through Sussex hedges.
We made silage and hay with grumpy Len
and sat in Mick's front cockpit
as the Tiger moth fell from its loop.
We drank pints at the Bridge and further a field
and plotted to get past Jeano (not Washington)
as she watched over those Stacey girls just playing with us.
Those were the days before
the times when the butler's son had perfect vision
and we both had healthy hearts and could walk, run anywhere we wanted
After the phone call and the flight to La Coruna
it was as though the years had done nothing to us what so ever
because we laughed and drank and slapped each other on the back
and Rose, beautiful Rose,
still called us "naughty boys" and wagged her finger at us because she can.
And we remembered to our hearts content
and dreamt a little of just what might have been.
