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P. J. McMahon © 2000

 

 
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In traffic, in the early 80’s, on the Uxbridge Road.
Near the Iron Bridge, on the Greenford-Southall Borders.
On a Sunday afternoon.
Driving back from Surrey,
Where my Aunt Mary lived.
I was with my mum and dad.
He was driving the car in front of us
And we wondered if it was him.
So almost ran a red light.
To overtake him.
My dad was clearly curious.
Was that really Michael Foot
Driving in front of us?
We peeled off at Greenford,
And he didn’t.
But it really looked like it was him.
Shaggy, white haired
Bespectacled, Professorial.
Driving a crap car.
It may have been a Montego.
In retrospect, it may not have been
Him at all. But someone else?
He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would be driving.
But let’s say it was him.
It may well have been,
And in the long years since it happened,
It has become the case:
For the sake of a story,
Of Completeness,
It was him.

   
   
   

 

 
   
         

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