Carol Ann Duffy - 'Prayer'

Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer
utters itself. So a woman will lift
her head from the sieve of her hands and stare
at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift.

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth
enters our hearts, that small familiar pain;
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales
console the lodger looking out across
a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls
a child's name as though they named their loss.

Darkness outside. Inside the radio's prayer -
Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre

I saw this on the tube today on my way home from a disheartening encounter with a room full of corporate self-help peddlars. Thanks to Carol Ann Duffy to re-enheartening me. Then I went to my favourite coffee shop (www.monmouthcoffee.co.uk) to relax for a moment, and the woman next to me was lovely, a Kiwi, and we talked about T'ai Chi, 'flat white' coffees and dodgy seminar-based 'education'. Thank goodness for the 'ordinary' London folks...