I met a man today
on my puddled walk
past new-made lakes -
meadows inundated –
at Hunsden Lock …
litter picking.
Pincering discarded detritus
laid bare in winter undergrowth
beside the tow path:
plastic bottles, aluminium cans,
glass, crisp packets,
a pair of underpants …
As he placed the
thoughtless cast asides,
in an empty yellow coal sack,
I thanked him for his pains.
He stopped a moment.
Three yards distanced
we talked awhile.
Boat stuff mostly …
coal and gas, water,
food supplies,
ropes and floods.
The usual things.
Exchanged some random
details of our lives.
He’d walked from Parndon Mill
where his boat is moored.
First time out post Covid -
a month holed up:
cabined, confined on board.
The sky was heavy, grey.
Yet, there was something
in that chance encounter,
with a real person,
flesh and blood, unzoomed,
that made my day
as if the sun had shone.
I liked his smile,
and he looked kind.
I did not ask his name,
but wondered if we’d
meet again...
picking litter.
Nicola Tipton
