arriving at the sea side
and then the rolling hills give way
through the fast gaps in the trees
to an horizon sparkling
way beyond the roller coaster
the bus chugging closer to
the children’s joy shrieking
for the flags you see so
triangularly stiff on the non-breeze
bouncing on the seats down the last hill
down to barry island or was it porthcawl
the closer of the two but we thought
the more rough and ready than the elegant
barry island where they built a butlin’s
all faded now of course the memories
and sadly the actual
the chugging days have left
over the horizon comes the smoke of wars
a bloody child’s knee long trousered now
fingering the coins in a pocket turning over
the price of everything and the value of nothing
so said doom and we did not disagree
the roller coaster drops stop at the water’s end
and we get off for the last time
the rides are closed
on a red slipped sign
the
summer’s season is over
the paint is curling
the gates are padlocked
hands on the railing we stare
you can always trust in rust
he said
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