It is a grace of Waterloo

and one that the Iron Men

and seagulls hold no dominion

as they squabble over sunlight

and the quiet rage of the ships

that cut through the Mersey sound

on their way down stream.

 

The other end of South Road,

the bottom stop and between

the Liver and X2 stops

of Southport and Preston

stands firm the Plaza, resplendent

since the outbreak of war

and since “Peace in our Time”

was declared over cold eggs and copious tea

and the mad men scratched their heads

and brought guns and masks

to the world.

 

The bright lights shine down towards

Crosby and look back at Liverpool’s

gasp and the young who believe

that a cinema should be like a God,

omnipresent,

not just magical and the holder of illusion

into which Colin Dexter’s smile

would beam as he spoke

to a captivated audience in another

building shamefully let go

by the pursuit of money.

 

The Iron Men may have the view,

they may stand erect and proud

with purposeful gaze and

ground down opinion

but the ships that pass them in the night

hold no secrets

compared to the film showing in

Screen One and the life

changing illuminated scenes

in which a hero

may not be made of rust.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015.