Horseshoe for luck

Horseshoe for luck


There was a wooden bridge, near the farm,
where I lived - a few years- as a child,
I often sat under it looking at the clear, soft
flowing water and I could see tiny fishes
swimming about, sometimes they came to
the surface to have a look at me; when horse
and cart crossed the bridge fine dust fell and
shimmered as gold. This was my secret place,
I kept things here like rusty nails, a whistle,
coloured stones and a shiny horseshoe

When I came back here years later, no one
could remember a river, I must be mistaken
it was said; mind there used to be a tiny
stream here, but it was filled in years ago.
The farm had been replaced by a business
park, people with hard dreams worked here.
A petrol station, tarmac roads and cafés, yes,
the future had won “Never been a farm here,
they said. In a ditch I found a rusty horseshoe
and knew my memory was not a dream