Weekends

Friday night,
Ready for the off,
Sitting in the back with brother and sister.
Playing “I spy,”
singing rounds,
Mother passing round some chocolate.

Journey’s end,
A house in a town,
Carried in sleeping by kind paternal arms.
Takeaway chips,
Uncle smiling,
Scent of Players No 6 and turf.

Another day,
In a farm house kitchen,
Aunty and uncle and cousins and Granddad.
Sitting by the range,
Warm and drowsy,
Listening to tales of people unknown.

Sunday evening,
The return,
To school and books and work and home.
A quieter trip,
Reflecting,
But knowing we would all be back next week.

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