The home is approved
in outline, in plan. It takes
years to colour in.

Down from the old line,
sunk in clay: parcels of land,
projecting the plain.

The rail was broken
off the branch, leaving this track,
embankment and bed.

Worked open by locks,
the cut dried out, scored into
sunken carriageways.

Slowing the motors:
a canal that will not move,
this standing water.

There was nothing here,
nothing, not for the children,
they weren’t in the plan.

A bridge to nowhere,
abandoned to a wide-skied
wondering boyhood.

Between the junctions,
a new four-lane relief road,
empty of traffic.

Still wrapped, the stop lights
and idle rubble: lost maps
of Middle Wichel.

The new settlement
starts without us. We won’t live
to see it finished.

We could walk out there,
take stock: the fens filling in,
the sky building up.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s