Single track Heaven
By Angusfolklore
- 1019 reads
Going north in single track heaven,
a black line through the Highland Line,
was what we did each summer.
Dad banged the horn to blow away the crows
gorging on the road kill rabbits.
Just two hours from home,
where white houses are laid back
from the lanes as if afraid to pose
for picture postcard fame.
Gazing closer we saw no thatch
or kail yards.
Home here is as double glazed
as anywhere,
with more cause perhaps.
The tolling gales rip up
pines like toothpicks
in the winter time.
The freezers are full of
Bird’s Eye and chips
bought on trips
to the local town.
Who would wish the Highland to be
dyeing the burns red with blood
as in an older dream?
Better that the rebuilt
black house nets in tourists
like fat herring from the bay.
- Log in to post comments
Comments
People living in romantic
People living in romantic locations, which tourists want to be 'authentic', still have to go about their day to day lives. However, it is the dream that brings the tourists, so a balance has to be struck. I live in a tourist city where sometimes the two things get out of kilter.
I really enjoyed this poem, with the personal reminiscence giving extra substance to the broader point.
- Log in to post comments
Fantastic description and
Fantastic description and rings true with the filling of freezers. I love the use of local language and the realism at the end. Good use of imagery, too. Very appropriate.
Parson Thru
- Log in to post comments
You take me along to the end
You take me along to the end of the Highland line.
- Log in to post comments