I think that the railings were green. They were tall;
not so tall, I suppose, as the memory shows,
but enough; and staggered, a challenge
to bikes and to scooters to ride in between
without touching, to mums with their prams
and their earlier products in tow
when they came at the time when the bell
rang to go. Either side of the drive
wooden fences like sentries that guided
you in to the desert of tarmac
with circles and snakes you could balance
on, holding the brakes, where you almost
got lost the first time you crossed
to the doors, the three steps at the entrance
that led to the long polished floors.
They were green, I remember;
perhaps just a hint of a sepia tint;
but, yes; they were certainly green.
If you have any comments on
this poem, Bob Dew
would be pleased to hear them.