By Tina Shaw
In the kaleidoscope of the town,
my sinews constrict with the seasons.
On the mortar and tarmacadam
through age old streets and alleyways
moving quad bikes and BMWs
fly by in the autumn,
and gnarled trees are my garden guests.
I am living in this icy town,
with a pumpkin outside the door.
Knowing these roads
will taste of bonfires,
trick-or-treat and Halloween.
Children enjoy the rain, and
not one is surprised here, not even
when, catapulting towards us with a beard
hiding his face,
comes Father Christmas.
I can only speak of my winter town.
My sullen four bedded house drips cold rain.
I watch the moonless night, swaying trees
and blackbirds haunting the branches.
If we stick together as the year fades,
the Spring air will warm our cold bodies.
Forgotten bulbs will rise once more,
and Springtime sprout a yellow milk smile.
