Sheep Street never looked so good

as it did in the early May sun,

the spotlight from decades past

captured with almost boundless

enthusiasm from roof to roof

in which places from my childhood

have leaked away, have melted into nothing

more than history and tethered remains

of collective memory.

 

The record shop long gone,

Goble’s, along with Iain, vanished

into the ether, coffee shops by chain

replace the feel of something inward

and to be rejoiced

and as for the biggest killer

of the town,

the shopping complex

that sits at the heart of Bicester Village;

never shall I pass its grievous lips or

open wallet brigade.

 

Many homes, numerous places,

but you my Oxfordshire love,

you infect me in the sunshine

with a peace I only never knew

in Niagara Falls;

like a lover from another time

who still looks good in a well

fitting, figure hugging dress

I can still feel

adoration for you.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016