Snow on ground for several days.

I’m taken back to sixty-three,

when it didn’t melt for months.

 

No central heating, frost on

inside windows. You’ve heard

the stories. Eventually the council

 

tried to clear the streets.

Collected as much snow

and ice as they could,

 

piled it high in a nearby

car park. A mountain range

for us to play and fight in.

 

Our school divided into two camps,

the Whites, and the Blacks.

We had no thoughts of race.

 

The Blacks amounted to less

than one class. I was

in the Blacks, of course.  

 

Proud to be, knowing I was

following the right, true path.

Lost every battle among the icy peaks.

 

Think Gordon of Khartoum,

Davy Crockett at the Alamo,

Corbyn in 2019. No, scrub

 

that last one. But I wonder.

Could you still be ‘woke’ with

Macmillan in power, at the age of ten?