Roundabout Poem by Sheena Blackhall

That wedding day they left me with an aunt
One at a time, stole surreptitiously
Into the Ford. 'You stay. We simply can't
Take children too.'

They packed me off to play
Down at the pleasure park.
The dismayed sun
Soft as an orange, gave the game away

Squirreling up the chute at first was fun
Or watching others swallow-tail on swings
Slumped on a roundabout that barely spun
Creaking as mayflies rose from pools in rings
A slow procession in the sultry heat
Late afternoon. The world was hatching wings
The roundabout revolved.
On foxy feet
Dark padded from the trees below the hill
Others went home. Left on the turning seat
I watched the harebells shiver in the chill
The night airs rattle at the barley's ear

It seemed I sat a century until
`We might have known you'd still be sitting here
Your aunt was worried stiff '

Now, all are dead
Their speech, their ways, dry flowers on a bier
Live in the roundabout inside my head.