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Poem


I have an awful memory. It's sad.
Seemingly destroyed by that madman
Who, sixty-one years ago, pulled out
Without looking,and crashed into my car
Sending mine careering towards death.
Ha! I've got news for him, wherever,
I survived! 


But you robbed me of some dreams!
Dreams that, like all memories, are passive
And cannot be completely lived again.
But it is the words... sixty-one years !
Who would have thought there'd be so many?


Amongst them, through the gaps pervading,
Are gems: Memories to be grateful for.
The tin box of silver thrupences
I hid beneath a floorboard in 1952!
Did anyone find it? Or did they rain
Down upon heads of demolition men
Like angel's tears at all destruction:
At things that should have aged and died
Naturally, in the most usual and intended way.
Gone tomorrow but here today.

 

 

© Allen Ansell 2024

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