Nothing stays the same, change is inevitable and it’s usually futile to resist it.
But memories remain constant.
A memory of a town now gone
Those sunny summer Saturday evenings with barren, almost empty streets,
the small spartan shop,walking there with Grandad to buy fizzy drink treats,
dandelion & burdock Pop.
Taking ages to go with mum into town just for crumpets and sliced bread,
because she knew everyone, and was forever stopping to chit-chat instead,
feeling proud to be her son.
Papa’s police station where mum and her family had lived during the war,
and where the refugees stayed,the tales of local bad lads breaking the law,
the parks where we played.
The fortress like mill, with it’s bright coloured dyes that soiled the beck,
racing to Spring wood, guessing the shade as it flowed by the pram wreck
trapped in stream bed mud.
The fish & chip shop on the corner looking fine with it’s black & white walls,
vinegar and fried food scent, and the kitsch jingle as the ice cream van calls,
copper pennies well spent.
Errands to the allotments off coach road to buy a dozen eggs fresh that day,
cheaper than the shops. The best cellar pubs where the finest pints we’d slay,
relishing the bitter hops.
I used to love this small town, so special when I was young,
but now there’s just memories like a song that’s been sung.