Brotherton Store Poem by Adrian Flett

Behind the wide brown counter
the wide brown lady takes your cash
and you know when you get back,
your car will still be behind
Brotherton Store.

Hulks of past motoring glory lie passive now,
as hungry puppies and Natal Game fowls prowl
amid tufts of grass while you lace boots,
and your car settles down to days of quiet behind
Brotherton Store.

A last check to see your car is locked,
keys safely stowed in the rucksack.
The path invites towards Solar Cliffs,
Didima and far beyond
as you leave behind
Brotherton Store.

Coming back, after the river crossing
is Solar Cliffs again and the start
of the never ending path leading out.
Each hill is crested with expectation of seeing
Brotherton Store.

Still another rising hill before you
as you plod on, rucksack rubbing shoulders
and toes each with their own point of pain,
as weary legs head for
Brotherton Store.

The final crest and there's the clump of trees
and the old orchard - no fowls scratching now,
no wide counter over which to buy a Coke,
no easing tired feet or throat,
Brotherton Store is no more.

Like an old man's mouth, all gaps and rotten teeth,
the walls crumble and rot now,
windows, roof timbers all magically gone
in a few days after the wide brown lady left and,
Brotherton Store is no more.

30/12/2011