Read the Poem

In front of the museum
too expensive now for Cardiffians
where John Tripp hid
his bicycle clips among the pillars
and the statue of Lloyd George
greens slowly in the drizzle
I saw Tom Jones once
eluding fans among the bushes.

Heart of the Welsh universe
its white Portland replicated
perfectly in India
where the architect made a quick
rupee reselling his plans.

The past concentrates on these slabs.
Memory of marches, meetings, passions,
hired coaches like cream river-boats
the steps cut like a ghat on the Ganges.
When the sea rises
the tide will reach here with ease.