The Homecoming Poem by H E Alexander

I walked with sycamore soles
through once familiar roads
and the smell of the white haw
infiltrated my nose.
Like a child, I finger swiped the dust
from the flaked black railings
and despite the adult failings
into which I'd grown,
I had come home.

Through the tomb-circled gardens
I wandered, and summoned the fear
of the haunted church
that we wouldn't go near,
and peered upwards at
the roof top playground
and soon found
that I felt the same doubts as I
did before childhood swept by.

I heard a child's laughter scream
and my memory pictured
the van with a screen
at the back, where
we would watch cartoons
that ended too soon.

I wanted to sit once more
on the witch's hat roundabout,
or ask Mr Wolf the time;
maybe just stand about,
or build castles in the sand,
or run the paths in between
the kept lawns of green,
fenced with V-shaped bars,
where I fell and life-bore the scar.

My wearied heart felt still
seeing that no longer there,
at the church garden's edge,
was the corner shop, where
we bought Saturday comics
and four-a-penny sweets,
then walked along Chelsea streets
to see the picture show:
heroes with gun, sword or bow.

Now my days have wept away,
with coldness of blood
and complexion grey,
I have come back to
where only but few will see
I walk these streets for eternity.