At The High Lodge.
Auntie played the accordion
While others sang Goodnight
Irene in a discordant chorus
And the gas lamps had been lit
And you sat there amidst it all
Remembering the sound of crickets
On the way up to the high lodge
In the evening darkness with only
Uncle’s torch and the glow-worms
To cut through the blanket sky
Of black and London a long way
Off now and the sound of traffic
And bright lights and the smell
Of coal dust and fumes and sitting
There watching Auntie play and sing
And her fingers moving over the
Keyboard and the sense of tiredness
And the countryside smell entering
Into you and dreams of Jolly Rogers
And cowboy shootouts waiting for
You in the upstairs bedroom with its
Garden spiders in corners and darkness
After Uncle’s lamp went out and you
Imaging Mother in some far off train
Station still waving to you and London
Smells and lights hanging there about.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
