North of the Border
It’s been thirty years. Next time I come
it may be to Crieff.
I will try to find Sauchie Road
and look out for Torleum View
like searching for a childhood home
I’ve forgotten the way to.
I won’t be able to go in,
its new occupants won’t welcome me,
I fear they may already be there.
You couldn’t come to the station
to meet me from the train
in your purple car as you did in Burnley.
Perhaps I will stay in the B&B
you were going to book for me
when you could afford it
and I could afford the rail fare.
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