Wheels
Author: sonofadamWHEELS
Turning on my youth’s cycle, no cars in sight
no computers, no spacemen, no Aids fright.
Turning on the Clydeside cranes, in the mills
and in the shops cheaper unreceipted tills.
Turning only once on the surface of The Pit,
The Bing, The Pond, the bonfires we lit.
Turning on the second finger of my first wife
lasting no longer than a sliced cake’s life.
Turning on the steamer to a new honeymoon
true love this time, but don’t speak too soon.
Turning slowly on twin hearses all traffic stop,
now no more winding of the mantelpiece prop!
Turning on the ticket style, up there again
and on this strangers long southbound train.
Turning on the black taxi that gets me here
to a new home that brings on a clannish tear.
Turning forever inside my heart and my head
tender thoughts of loved ones already dead!
Turning continually on my life’s Meccano set,
soon it will be my turn, but not just yet.
Turning on the memories of ‘just yesterday’
they weren’t really, it just seems that way.
Turning my head when a voice calls “Dad”
helping me forget the failures I’ve had!
sonofadam
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Fri Sep 11, 2009 10:18 AM CST
About this poem:
A bing is a coal slag heap!
The mantelpiece prop was my parent's clock which my Dad wound every day!
This was my second and last time leaving Scotland hence:
'up there again'