It was always The Cabin

before her lectures

                coffee

                and Flic demolishing

                                The Times crossword,

                                sharing the clues but

                                writing the answers

                                as she read, smoked,

                                pushed her blond hair

                                back.

Between lectures

repeat

                without the crossword

 

Once

I sat at the back of a lecture theatre

in Old College

                                absorbing a little philosophy

and feeling inferior

to all the students who clearly understood

                                so much more

 

Darts or dominoes

                in the Prince Albert or the Talbot

Music

                in the Folk Club behind the Skinners Arms

unless there was an essay due

 

Ten students and sometimes I

                sharing a kitchen in Cwrt Mawr

                returning to breeze-block cells

                to study, write or sleep

Leonard Cohen echoing through the halls

 

But The Cabin

                was our home

coffee

and that security of

                friends and lecturers meeting

                beneath the old film posters

                behind its steamed up windows