Hello,
It's Mandy here again.
I'd like to read you a poem from my collection.
Old blue car And this poem is called Village Hall.
I'd like to live in a village hall.
Lie down on pale cool floorboards Made safe by the dark tread of farmers.
Wake under the gaze of high windows in the presence of a hundred chairs waiting I'll do as the no smoking sign tells me.
Refrain from drinking on the premises trust the fire door to tell me all i need to know about coming and going The stage curtains can be kept closed,
The spotlights off.
News will come to the notice board.
But not often.
Give me dust and echoes and old smells and all the shades of maroon I could ever dream of.
Coat hooks and palmets.
And wedges to hold doors open on hot nights.
Give me time for questions and requests.
And room to notice the things that move.
Spiders and wood lice the second hand of the clock.
The squares of light that bloom and fade on the floor.
Like carriages of an enchanted train,
Forever travelling.
