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Jack, always the town planner,
is interested in the wind turbine
that can be seen from the ground
as well as the old terrace houses,
and fatalistic about the enormous
estate pub boarded up
for more than a decade.
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I’m more intrigued by the industrial
railway line, its Semaphore signals,
on the station platform
that will soon be used
by passengers again.
It’s cold and grey for April.
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But the match is a corker: home team
with a great tradition escapes
relegation by winning five-nil.
Bumper crowd celebrates as if
they’d won promotion. Lads under
a banner smile and check phones,
white-haired fan waves scarf at the players.
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Faith, hope, love, loyalty. Lowry.
On the way home we’re tired
and quiet until Jack points out
two brightly painted railway
carriages on a school playground,
pressed into service as auxiliary
classrooms, that made the national news.