Lotioned and potioned, creamed and perfumed,
My Crossroads attendants ensure I am groomed.
Each day starts the same, with good humour and smiles.
I may read my paper or book for a while,
Wait for the postman – or make a few calls,
My telephone friends think I’m rarely alone
As I frequently tell them “you must excuse me –
I’ll talk to you later – someone’s come in!”

Crossroads come alone, or paired, perhaps tripled,
Keep up my spirits, as do a measure
Of sherry, Campari, madeira, Martini!
I hear small talk of rotas and shifts and
Making an entry (but not through a door)
It can only be read in the Red Book of Lore
That’s no work of fiction, it’s true as can be
Come see for yourself – it’s beyond me!

E.P.