She offered me a trip,

a walking holiday through

Yorkshire and Durham,

as it was before they re-arranged the map,

following desolate moorland, and dead feathered friends

whose life had been cut short, and water stout

and fast.

I attribute the offer as folly now,

for we were to stray not far from the river

towards its inevitable end as it lolled

into the North Sea somewhere round Redcar,

Hartlepool and Middleborough,

I should have known that she would lie

to me,

a holiday walking the river,

it was all just a big Tees.

Ian D. Hall 2017