Nobody knows

Nobody knows

Once the door is closed

English castles

Dingy dungeons recalled

Long gone now

The scullery and meat safe

A washstand in the street

For the miners

An unlit loft

With water pipes

That froze in winter

For lack of lagging

And adequate heating

Wandering the lowlands

In search of one another

Playing soldiers

Using sticks

As weapons

Country children

Acting out the stories

We were handed down

Wet socks always

Wedged into the toe-end

Of wellington boots

Snow white fingers

Cold as ice

Aching in front of the fire

Grandma always had chilblains

Dreaming of America

Where kitchens had refrigerators

Nothing is forgotten

Until it is.

Once the door is closed

Angels can be monsters

There were no good times

Just heavy locks

On coalhouse doors

Loose lips sink ships

Never talk to strangers

Whistleblowers are

The messengers who get shot

Why do we believe tall stories

But rage against a truth

When it is inconvenient

We were told

No more war

But there were tall trees

Decked out in snow

That sparkled in sunlight

So bright it was close to blinding

Blackthorn was a bitter fruit

Best used in baking

Until we found

It was used in mother’s ruin

Nobody knows

Once the door is closed

Anything can happen

In the quiet of an afternoon

Playing games

With bygones

There is little future

In digression

The present slips away

Before it is even here

Only the past remains

To haunt us

Once the door is closed

The world is nought

But make-believe

When all your truths

Were yesterday

With nothing left to do

But wait until tomorrow.