It Just Isn't Fair! Poem by Mark Heathcote

Childhood, seen reflected through a train window.
Can be a sad affair—even if your designation?
Somehow takes you to a sunny-seaside resort.

That has donkey rides, with jingling silver bells-
or even a funfair, with a twisting-roller-coaster
a word like it-just-isn't fair
generally, crop up out of thin air.

As the train chugs along you resent being young
you begrudge being a part of the luggage.
You resent someone else is in charge.
Not just you but also your destination.