Saint George

The cross that’s carved deep
we have to keep a memento.
but I know without seeing
that someone is keying
the code in
sticking the nails in.
Have you been to the place beyond
the place where you think
you can’t face it?
it’s somewhere behind me,
waiting to catch up and grind
me down doing a
left, right
left, right
marching off into the,
is that daylight?
Words fail me as the scales fall away
and the Dragon breathes fire across,
what was the name of that bay?
watching Morecambe on the
web cam
an old man on a trolleybus
going to the fayre.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.