Borrowash Bowl
Gates wrought with iron and dismay:
Dereliction looms,
Piercing the dark
And its clinging mist.
Like a memorial, forlorn and doomed,
The premises, desolate, deserted, unlit,
Alter so little with the advent of day…
Bowl distraught with decay and age:
Restoration’s clues
Littering the night
And its clinging past.
Like a memorial, scorned and exhumed,
The facilities, disparate, distressed, unfit,
Will change but time’s passage will gauge…
Constructions fraught by time and misuse:
Faded seats
Cluttering the enclosures
And their spectral cheers.
Like memorials, tended and revered,
The grandstands, proud, primitive, loved,
Offer a shrine with plastic pews…
Grassbanks sought by foliage and weed:
Unkempt, wild,
Obeying the wind
And its chilling fears.
Like memorials, restored and reused,
The garden gates, prim, pert, hinged
Speak ‘Vics’ to the Borrowash creed...
Pete Ray
November 2015
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