A Note on Leaving the Flat

to Laurie Josephs

For the room I lived in,
the kitchen I worked in,
for that first party
when I found I could dance,
for this last evening
when your hints and anecdotes
made a thousand books shrivel –
how to control a class of children,
how to pass the driving test,
how to take a standing jump onto a desk,
how not to make a 3-point turn
as you did, escaping the clutches of a passing woman-friend –

for the easy company
of your pictures and sculptures,
for your readiness to listen
to all my scraps of writing,
for your interested sympathy
whenever I wanted to talk,
for your true pleasure
when I said I was getting married,
for the view of Islington
from the roof of the house
and the view of life
as ousted from
the dampening cellar of ambition,
for being able to breathe
whatever blackouts
there might ever possibly be,
thankyou Laurie.