I’d love to say I still love it

And perhaps sometimes

I still do

Like when the sun meekly

Comes out

And stumbles out

Across the back of the old Victoria Station

- The effect is almost still magical

On the way, the sun even seems

To respect

This ancient monument

Which has stood

There since

The edge of time

(Well in my generation anyhow)

And has remained almost untouched

From the vultures that have hovered around other train stations

Around the centre of Manchester,

The old map which covers

The heart of the station

Which shows just how

For it can touch

From Blackburn

To parts of Yorkshire

That I am not even sure

Exist anymore

To the old bookshop

Which was built in

1920 or something

Which is no longer

A bookshop

Of course

But nowadays

Some café

But which still has the same

Dusty smell

As only an old bookshop

Can carry.

But other times

Like every time

I hear

The rain laughs when it hits the roof

Like golf-balls

Before it then bounces

Onto my hair

And then jumps all over my shoulders

Before finally hitting

My back

I feel different,

Like when the thunder

Makes the glass

On some of the old shop fronts

Sometimes

Shake

With almost a nervous terror,

I see things different

In moments

When the wind

Brings in the rain

In-between some

Of the cracks on the roof

Or maybe in-between

The chips in some of the glass

On the door-ways,

With an un-mighty

Rush

And if you are stood

On some of the platforms

No matter

How hard or far you

Try and hide,

You know

You are going to be

Soaked wet.

 

But yet I see things

different,

And

This is my hometown

And I would love to say 

I still love it

But…