Sunday, 15 May 2016

Ripples

Ripples of time
gathering pace.
Working up to the wave 
that crashed into me, 
propelled me forward
and now sucks me back.
Thirteen decades.
Back.
To a place beyond my imagining,
so tidy now after the crash.
Gentrified now.
Rippling gently.
But before,
in my father’s time.
There was beer mixed mud
and crowding children.
And smells of horses
and metal.
Working.
Fire and metal work.
Children who 
would leave behind
the mud,
and country 
smells,
for the dust
and smog.
For the city grime.
Streets and factories.
More fire and metal.
Bigger.
Grander.
And what then?
Still poor.
What then?
What secrets lie in those ripples
of time
washing over me
now.


http://www.scarletleafreview.com/poems3/category/lynn-white

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