The Turn-Off
Posted: Wed Jan 23, 2013 4:06 pm
The Turn-Off
How many times I'd driven past the turn-off? Racing by
To reach the distant mountains and stand closer to the sky,
To walk the summer's scrubby grass, to ski the winter's snow.
I told myself that life was long, and one day I would go.
And then I did. I visited. I left the beaten track,
And as I did, I felt the hands of time turn slowly back.
I visited the Royal Mail Hotel, where lived a lad
Who'd once been saved, together with his parents, oh, so glad
That another boy had spotted him, and sprinted to his side
And pulled him from the water, from the rising, icy tide
That froze his arms, and pinned his chest, and swirled around his throat,
Then covered him so gently with his own poor, threadbare coat.
I walked down to the little creek, I strolled along its bank,
Amongst the long green grass that grew so lush and wild and rank.
I walked towards the little school upon the farther shore -
At least towards the little sign that said it stood no more.
I pictured, too, the fallen tree (and felled, no doubt, by blacks),
And gave my full attention to the tracing of these tracks,
And I didn't think of robbing banks, or shooting troopers dead.
Instead I thought of two young boys, the diff'rent lives they'd led.
I thought of Richard Shelton, with his warm, inviting life,
With a loving mum and dad, and wealth - secure, and free from strife,
And I thought of young Ned Kelly, with his fam'ly on the brink
Of catastrophe; his father sick and tired, and in the clink;
And then I thought of my own son, and wondered how he'd fare
With no tucker in the pantry, with his parents worn with care;
With a clutch of younger siblings always scrabbling for a bite,
And how for some folk, all of life's an unremitting night.
I thought of what came after, like an ugly inky smudge,
How we're often so short-sighted, how we're often quick to judge,
And I made no firm conclusions, but a resolution, yet,
That I always would remember...and I never would forget.
Stephen Whiteside 23.01.2013
How many times I'd driven past the turn-off? Racing by
To reach the distant mountains and stand closer to the sky,
To walk the summer's scrubby grass, to ski the winter's snow.
I told myself that life was long, and one day I would go.
And then I did. I visited. I left the beaten track,
And as I did, I felt the hands of time turn slowly back.
I visited the Royal Mail Hotel, where lived a lad
Who'd once been saved, together with his parents, oh, so glad
That another boy had spotted him, and sprinted to his side
And pulled him from the water, from the rising, icy tide
That froze his arms, and pinned his chest, and swirled around his throat,
Then covered him so gently with his own poor, threadbare coat.
I walked down to the little creek, I strolled along its bank,
Amongst the long green grass that grew so lush and wild and rank.
I walked towards the little school upon the farther shore -
At least towards the little sign that said it stood no more.
I pictured, too, the fallen tree (and felled, no doubt, by blacks),
And gave my full attention to the tracing of these tracks,
And I didn't think of robbing banks, or shooting troopers dead.
Instead I thought of two young boys, the diff'rent lives they'd led.
I thought of Richard Shelton, with his warm, inviting life,
With a loving mum and dad, and wealth - secure, and free from strife,
And I thought of young Ned Kelly, with his fam'ly on the brink
Of catastrophe; his father sick and tired, and in the clink;
And then I thought of my own son, and wondered how he'd fare
With no tucker in the pantry, with his parents worn with care;
With a clutch of younger siblings always scrabbling for a bite,
And how for some folk, all of life's an unremitting night.
I thought of what came after, like an ugly inky smudge,
How we're often so short-sighted, how we're often quick to judge,
And I made no firm conclusions, but a resolution, yet,
That I always would remember...and I never would forget.
Stephen Whiteside 23.01.2013