Poem: Newtown Madrigal

A poem about Newtown and three seperate, closely placed experiences.

There’s the hospital, where my son was born.

And directly across the road, a tiny flat where

I saved a man’s life, one night. There had been

a cry for help, and I dropped things and went

there — just to be there — because that’s what

you (should) do if it’s someone you know, or

if there’s some way you can. Before either of

those fairly monumental events, I arguably

saved my own life, via realisation, in between

those two spots. I worked community service

at the Salvation Army, a result of my arrest

for receiving stolen goods. As far as crimes

go, it’s not very sexy, nor at all rock’n’roll

and no malice from me, I didn’t know I was

doing it — I didn’t know much back then.

Funny what walking past places does, late

at night and many years on. I say I have no

connection to Newtown. It’s the place that has

given me life, and family, and purpose.

And all in the space of just a few footsteps.

Three different versions of me.

Three very different times indeed.

Three good outcomes. In the end.