The trains
speed through
your memories:
the old lady waiting
with a pram,
the boy in black and white.
Days in the Heaton sun
swept aside
demolished
in the rush
to rationalise.
I was that boy,
still am,
on the platform
looking for the words
to express
true feelings
for my home;
drifting in the smoke,
spotting
derelict clouds
along First Avenue
and out of sight
into local photographs.
KEITH ARMSTRONG
