Grey

When I was a child,
the B1043
left the A1
north of home,
and wandered,
old and worn,
bumpily and windily,
through the villages
to Huntingdon.

Now,
this old roads
is unnumbered,
and the B1043
runs with the new motorway,
as if an apprentice
learning traffic.

How dare it!
How dare it grow
from old to young,
from wrinkled line
to long and straight,
how dare a childhood fixture
regain youth.

poem

97-99

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