This Cambridge
by Adam F. Cornford

Silvertone light after light rain’s on the learned city
where I grew from two to eighteen in waking time
Now I’m tipsy in this bar in a Tudor-built pub cellar
black timber-rivers mapping the white plaster walls
as outside the dreamed river eases under stone bridges
that echo in ripples the calls and laughter from boats
In here too hilarity rings off downhung glasses
glinting among translucent irises of gin and ale
I stand handshaking and glad at the heart of the crowd
festive in black and white you dear father beside me
have gathered to celebrate my return my campaign
to serve on the town council you began before I came
But father I already govern this brain-city the only
one where as you wished I can stay with you always