Poem: Old Haunts

towards the end of Courtney Place, there’s a place I always look - it’s one of the takeaway joints, I think, or next to one. I never take it in, exactly; never clock precisely what it is – but I know the point. The place. The scene of the crime…

I was stumbling home from a pub or two, playing tag with either side of the footpath and then a friend of a fr…