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A Poem for Emma Purshouse

Here is a poem I started as  William G shut the front door behind him, having stayed overnight with us in May 2014.This final draft I completed on New Years Day 2015.

Tom W was staying with us too – but he got pushed out of the poem unfortunately !

John is of course really Gian – but I tend to change his name in poems so people know how to pronounce ‘him’


It has been published on a USA poetry website – I can’t remember where at the moment !   Nadia x


What shall I call you – William or Bill?
My friends call me Na. You. Not offered a seat. Me. Not offering drink.
John. Paul. Jamming in the dining room. You ‘Shazam’ the tune. Attempt to show
a musical knowledge; then laugh, delighted, when you’re told your mistake.

You are funny. Witty and funny.
Witty, funny, clever and well-read. You wear your trousers high but that
adds to your charm, as does putting-yourself-down, though I tell you
You must work on that. Like crochet, that starts with one loop, then grows

and grows until, without warning we are caught up
in the here and Now, and you have heard enough to set the scene for when John and I first met.
I clear my throat. John laughs. NOT the one about the WALL? And I say yes, as I know
you are ready; proven when, after hearing of John’s mate Robot, you imagined the national headline:

Man jailed for not being Dutch.
You lap up the prologue. I speed up, before John stops me: I go to the bathroom. Come back.
And there, from the top to the bottom of the wall is etched ‘I love you Na I love you Na I love you Na
I love you Na’. I look at John- he digs his own grave: a girl named Naomi, is also Na; her boyfriend,

Robot had been the previous tenant. I leave it hanging, and you laugh
as I knew you would. John says You couldn’t write that. But I know different. For already, the story
has grown from flash to novella as I recalled that when I first entered his room it was dark,
as his light bulb had blown, and those four repeated words of passion were written in alarming red.


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