Brunswick Square
The bones used to be piled atop each other.
Moving in articulated concert.
Some of the small ones were dancers and whirlers
When springtime came along Broadweir,
And Castle Street.
Long straining loads were the fare for the heavy ones,
But they sometimes danced in secret.
Often too they were joined at the tips,
Touching,
Or wrapped around each other,
And somehow softer for the wrapping.
But for the most part, they stood amongst tin,
And timber, furniture polished to a lustre and then,
Covered with unequal morsels for the sharing,
When the resting was upon them.
In time, they made others;
And some of them made others; some didn't.
Then some went away.
But they all stood among tin and timber,
And some chose bricks.
They all had their springtime and winters,
Though, not all saw it in Broadweir,
Or Castle Street.
And some knew about parity.
When it was all over, they were brought to this place.
The straining was at an end.
The dancing and whirling was at an end.
A little later, but still it ended.
They just left the usual photographs, tables, and tin,
And lay together at Brunswick Square.
Among the family;
And some strangers.
Reg Kear ©1995.
