J

I went back there today;
back to our own little part
of the dirty Northern town
where we grew.

Remember
The Park...

... whiling away the summer
under the glare of old men
- cursing youth from the gloom
of their dark pavilion.
the slap-slap of playing cards echoed
in the lazy cawing of gulls
pecking over sun-dried sandbanks.

Remember
The Churchyard Pulpit...

... carving our names
in it's refuge from prying eyes,
sheltered from the chill
- of river wind and society:
plotting against a world against us.
Talking and dreaming of futures
that never appeared.

Remember
The Mill ...

... Breathing the heady must
catching in our throats,
we finally, fleetingly knew;
- wondering in juvenille innocence
at the touch, smell and taste;
the truth of each other
eternally bonded in youth. 

I went back there today;
to our own little town.
Its still there, just as we knew it.
But where are you dear J