A poem that emerged from a memory cloud as I dashed through St Pancras Station – the first draft was typed into my phone on the Underground and read an hour later at my National Poetry Day gig. As I was Tweeting about the pianos a fortnight ago, it seems fitting to publish it online. (And if anyone can explain how to get rid of the double-spacing in WordPress, please feel free to comment!)    The St Pancras Pianos for Paul   Who knew there were two blue uprights at the station? While you caressed the ivories beneath the Eurostar escalier, I was opposite Cath Kidston listening to a bald bruiser with tats and a gay dungeon beard: boogie-woogie jazz sonatas, impromptu ragtime rhapsodies, pouring from his fingers on and on for half hour.   I didn’t SMS because you’d be on the Tube, I didn’t want to nag, and…

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