Here is my poem for the Nantwich Speakeasy I wrote on Monday. Kevin Emson and others pointed out how close to a war memorial it was, but that was pure accident. I had in mind school friends, the generation we are lumped with at random, and must sail with through life.
Brother
I rest and recall childhood
a land of mists,
misremembered hills of moss
and lost voices.
The comrades there,
pushed together to train
to survive the seas of a hard journey
towards shrouded monoliths.
With jingle bells we trot together
bemused at the younger and older ones.
Equal gifts are unwrapped
for our fun.
I turn, and find myself alone
among the stone.
