I leave a line of memory on a Bicester wall,

a remark, an admission of love

wrapped up in clothing of regret,

for these days I think of you

in sepia detail, like a long lost lover

who moved away without saying goodbye,

I feel bereft of Time,

for whilst I glimpse at you

in modern social media glory and those bitter

sweet postcards

sent by locomotive from

the steep bank of Bicester North,

I miss the haze of Sheep Street

now closed

to cars but traffic jam packed

on weekends, at night, when the boys and girls

come out to play and drink

the night away.

My memories sit in Garth Park,

in Bicester School, on Cooper School field

broken eyes and golf ball swings;

a line left on a Bicester wall,

time was I thought I’d return,

Time shows that perhaps

it is now left in memory.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017