22. Jan, 2017

Whitby Walks

In Whitby, which walk?
To the East and the Pier,
To the West and James Cook,
Or shall we just shop
Where fishermen lived
In the tiny streets of the town?
We could go to the beach,
But the donkeys aren't down
And the tide's brought seaweed in.
We can climb Khyber Pass
To take in an ice-cream
And consider a go on the trampoline.
We can stroll on the cliffs,
Lean on the wind,
And stop on a bench to watch sails go by,
Or have fish and chips on the promenade,
Where the seagulls bide their time.
We can play the arcades for souvenirs,
Or watch the swing bridge open.
We can count the steps to St Mary's church,
The hundred and ninety nine.
We can wish we lived in a bathing hut,
The seaside just by our side.
Then its home for tea in the Paddock,
A wash for sandy feet,
And an evening examination
Of this day's treasures and treats.

Ruth Enright

Overview

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Two teddies are now

Both in my keeping,

Gifts to toddler grandchildren, us.

When new, Bruin was purple, larger,

With a deep growl.

My brother's.

Teddy was smaller, fawn,

Mine.

He lost his growl after an unfortunate fall

And a sink bath.

I loved Teddy with a depth which included emotional guilt.

I was jealous because Bruin was bigger and purple

And my own ted must never know of that.

I was the oldest but the girl.

Perhaps that played into who got which bear.

Bruin is no longer purple,

Faded after decades on my brother's windowsills,

At home and in his flat.

For a few years now, both have looked down from

The high shelf beside my daughter's childhood raised bed.

They leaned together, slightly forward,

As if wanting to come down.

I climbed up to get them the other day and soon saw why.

Both lambswool, moths have pecked their back legs into small

bald patches.

It's been a poignant time as my mother has lately died too.

I felt I had let them down, the two teds,

Neglected while cherished still.

I've dusted them off and put them on the coverlet

Of the single bed below,

Where they seem more contented, two old men together.

Better now, their worn little faces seem to say.