Summer at the End of the Tunnel
Montrose, an epic journey begun at bedtime,
leaving the buzz of doodle bugs in London,
the train halted at Watford by bomb warnings,
a snake cornered by a thrown rock.
Picture books to look at tucked in my sleeper,
“Molly and Sandy make a moat
With their red buckets and spades.”
The thrill of crossing the border after Carlisle
deep in the night. Men curled on kit bags
in the caterpillar corridor.
Going to see Grandma and Granddad
mythical figures, precious ancients,
forever remembered amongst sandcastles
in the endless sun, by the endless sea
at the far end of my world.
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