No bank remains on the High Street corner
Where the Yorkshire Penny once stood.
On Saturday afternoons
Its granite steps transformed
To a gospel preachers’ rostrum
As with spittle flecked chins they
Bellowed at sinful shoppers passing by
God’s everlasting love for them
And the assurance of perpetual burning,
For the recalcitrant
Just a heart beat away.
My fiancée, dumped the Apitate ring
I sent her with a perfectly pitched note
’Please forgive my daily infidelities’
In a strong box in the Penny Bank crypt.
A café bar lounge casino now
Squats above the vault
Where my lover
Consigned my memory to
Darkness in perpetuity,
Burying what might have been,
But never was,
World without end