We left the rub-a-dub-dub.

Me and Garden Gate.

The f, f, Fylde flyers

Here for a day,

Then, them gone.

Little tube tea timers

Trying out adult time,

Artists at the dawn of life,

Drawn right there in front of us.

We were beached.

We were waxed lyrical.

The trip of a life line.

Me open, then closed.

And in the blink of my eye

A year for or from our past?

I am recollecting.

A year for or from our passing?

C 2019. Christopher Thompson