(memory Chest) What's In A Name? Poem by Janice Windle

My friend married Shakespeare,
amid much ado.
I saw her last in Luton,
twenty storeys high,
three children playing below.
We looked across the city,
caught a seagull’s eye.
We talked about the past,
our shared years,
before growing up interfered.
Where were our old friends,
our teachers?
She was my age and yet
an age away from me,
she, strong, protector of her children,
I, confused, unmade, drifting.

Later, when the children left, I heard
she loved another famous writer’s name -
Scott,
this time the real William,
but not
the dead Victorian.
They lived in Wales, I think.
After that, nothing.