escher poetry — [γ]

i rode the one road
on my badly chosen bicycle
imagining driving a bus

i drank my first beer
on that bicycle
it was horrible

i wheeled down a hill
refused to brake
fell off

was found unconscious
by strangers
they took me home

every school morning
i caught a bus

long waiting
i blurted my first music

a village girl
crushed on me

regrettably
it was one way

i left at 19
only been back

to shake the occasional doorstep
to stare at windowsills

it’s hardly changed
but now

that road
where i spilt my first blood

is to become
tea box twee

the preserved
nice bit

in milton template
the accosted new town

the only village thing
that’s mine
is memory

i have no right to intercede
but i do have the right

to blues
a sad song

woke up this morning
change is wearing
looters’ boots