A bouncing boy

..and we breathe
begin to oxidise
tears that run to rust
dry on the eyes that see
a boom and then a bust
but
nothing untoward that comes towards me
only Destiny and she’s no angel.

People come and go
some I know
some I’ve known
and now outgrown
childish ways
‘not so much
‘the good old days’
seen in an alcoholic haze
but
just a phase.

Places
pass or I pass places
faces
wanted posters
more rides on
the roller coasters

what happened to the
brand new?
an engine heading to a fire
two cops sat in the
black Maria and the telephone
boxes that really work

redundancy is the new brand new
and someone knew but it was not me.

© 2018, John Smallshaw.