A poem that revisits a childhood in Uttoxeter - no more, no less.
Ode To Uttoxeter
I remember that day back then
when we first found friendship
across the fields
beyond the train tracks of Uttoxeter
when the Stoke to Derby train flashed by
and superstition compelled us
to get off-ground
or at least lie on our back
like a Tiswas dying fly
and peddle our feet in the air
Where freshly mown grass
stained our clothes and soul
When we’d make fires
using useless greasy crisp packets
Where we'd dodge the farmers’ bullets
that we imagined in the distance
When every cow was a bull
that wanted to kill us
because we were wearing
red T-Shirts
Then as Mothers’ calls of “Teatime”
rang out, rebounding
from red council bricks
Like homing pigeons
we flew back to our nests
Post river-hopping
Post shelter-snogging
Post Park Drive smoking
we cycled past the kids we once were
collecting bullfrogs in buckets
We promised we’d be
best friends forever
And we still kind of are
even though we’ve not met for years
Because in minds
haunted by ghosts
we shared one glorious day
back then
where history’s sunbeams shone
on fresh faces
on high hopes
on giant joy
on a childhood
that can only ever
be defined by us
Mark Bird
