Fen - 7
Between new and old the space was filled
yards to the pound, with all options included.
And so, what from the outside looked the same
contained variation - serving hatches and stone
effect fireplaces, and concrete drives to the garage.
Neat cul-de-sacs of bungalows all with a car
and immature conifers. At night, you might
step out from the backdoor, and stand upon
the pilfered kerbstone of the step and count
each star, unhindered by the streetlights
that hung upon the horizon, of the town we fled
to forget. And hold your arms outstretched
to the luke-warm scent of nettle growing
by the creosote' fence. And then a light
would flick on. Or someone late home from work
would be heard collecting dampened washing.
Or the quiet silence would be broken by voices
saying thank you and goodbye. Until bit
by bit, the old village slowly slipped
unnoticed from view - as if, never having
beech trees.
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