Mum, Dad and Hayley are parking up,
I’ve done a Tesco run for tea and snacks,
the background vinyl’s in a warm spin
and your host mode’s in full effect.
I sit quietly through the jolly greetings
with a rare comfort and familiarity,
deep-rooted in years of protection,
making mud pies on Trinder Road.
For all the distances moved,
haircuts and waist sizes changed,
we’re all very much in essence
that same BMX boy or Girl Guide.
Way down individual paths
of our own choosing or fate,
it’s as crucial as it’s rare
to dial into these vast vaults.
Archives no number of years
will ever come close to rivalling.
They start at the utter beginning
and impact beyond their ends.
Sighs, tuts, stretches and smiles
bookend this occasion’s last tea
before departure hugs and waves
make way for another local round.
‘It was great seeing them, thanks.’
‘I agree. We should see both of ours more.’
‘Let’s definitely make a plan to.’
‘Yes, after our month of weekend trips.’
Bad practice leaves much distance
though history’s never that far away
in the form of an energetic Mum-style joke
or the quiet opinion of Dad’s bitten tongue.
From the cluster of scribbles DISPATCH19