Dulce et decorum est. To be a pacifist.
(afterThe World’s War on Alzheimer’s Disease ))
There’s no war zone in this home.
We are all equally terminal here.
There is no blood to be spilled,
No shots, or bodies of conflict.
Give peace a chance
There may be some light espionage;
some basic code, cypher and CB radio
(made of two baked beans cans / string).
And white flag FIFA on Christmas Day.
You can’t kill the spirit
There may even be some biochemical
experimental activity in the dining room.
Kept in a locked box, but prescribed,
legal and light, just creating plateaus.
It’s about Love not War.
Speeding in North Wales
I wrote back and asked for proof,
to delay paying the fine.
It arrived the day after the funeral,
a low-res printout of our Sunday drive.
The two of us, roof down, our windy heads
the croeso gatso spying to the side.
Gwneud tri deg wyth mewn preswylfa.
Doing thirty-eight in a residential.
On the way home, with fresh rosemary
and a dozen eggs bought with honesty,
You’d sung the Cambrian road signs;
Ardudwy, Trawfyndd, Cwn Penant,
Betws-yn-Rhos, Talacre, Bodelwyddan
Reverting back to your primary chimes.
When we got back it was the end of summer,
autumn was already slow cooking in the pot.
The roof went up, the battery came out
and the padded winter cover went on.
I’ve not been out in her since,
it’s been a damp rainy spring.
I’m thinking of selling her in the paper,
so someone else can have some fun.
Someone else can collect the rainwater
to bathe her and toothbrush each spoke.
Talk about engines when old men ask.
Take the corners too tightly and feel life.
Trace her family tree, D.R Jones, SORN,
Mr PR Green, unknown keeper and me.
Jane Thomas  is completing a diploma in creative writing with the Continuing Education Department at Oxford and completing her first pamphlet on Alzheimer’s.