Wincobank

Sandstone Avenue.
All the outworks are fading,
the light showing through.

They raised a playground
from the spoil heap. The old place,
you wouldn’t know it.

The rope, the ladder:
the soft fort, the short landing
on bonded rubber.

We are surrounded.
Willow warblers sound the wood,
slow our defences.

Heat at a standstill:
it burns in the stone bank, then
abandons the hill.

Wincobank, Sheffield, 11 April 2014

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