The Starbucks on York’s Coney Street looks out over that pedestrian walkway to take in the ancient church of St Martin le Grand opposite. Beyond that runs the River Ouse. Should you be passing by, have a butcher’s. A row of grumpy old men take up office there most weekdays. On high stools they sit at that Coney Street window, its ledged shelf just the right width for a laptop, to tap out their disgust at The State Of Things while enjoying Starbucks juice, internet hook-up, and filter coffee with free refills.
And that view of St Martin’s, which may or may not owe them five farthings.
They’ll be there all day. Blogging might not be 9-5 but to the casual eye these dudes, though well past retirement age, show every sign of keeping office hours.
One of them is Geoff Beacon. I’ve known him for decades. Well known denizen of the city, he’s a man of many hats but when our paths first crossed he was a software developer and company director. A poet too, whose verse once thrilled the more literate of our clients in the geographic info and marketing world of the ’90s. These days he writes prose on climate change with a local slant – here’s a sample – and odes on, you got it, The State Of Things.
Here’s one from his new, soon to be published anthology
Reluctant revenge
So I pushed your young son under the bus
Shh. Don’t make a fuss, don’t make a fuss
You made the mine that killed fourteen of us
Call it quits your young son under the bus
I grieve for your son under that bus
He seemed such a nice boy, like the youngest of mine
Who went to the fields and was killed by your mine
Who went to the fields and was killed by your mine
With his mother, his brother, his sister, his aunt
I try to forgive but I know that I can’t
My life is over, my life is gone
You’ve others to live for so you must live on
The wounds in my side are still oozing with pus
From the bits of the mine you made to kill us
Your whole lovely family’d be under that bus
If we did to you what you did to us
If we did to you what you did to us.
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