Do I wish I’d had a camera, back in fifty three?
Do I wish
I’d taken photographs, so now my friends could see?
coins and ice cream cones and leaving brought on tears
then of Jacque’s Arcade to a child of seven years.
please spare some pennies
you’ll have to lift me up”
the sound of crashing waves
the “Lucky Cup”
in, a ball drops out, I spin it round and round
Will it win
or will it lose, it makes a whooshing sound?
And then it
misses “Lucky Cup”, “You’ve lost that one my son”.
face drops, Dad puts me down, and my first penny’s gone.
three wooden balls, I roll them up the track
small, not yet strong, they just keep rolling back.
me how, and with one flick the ball shoots up the slope
sixty on the score board now, but my score? - not a hope.
left, I reach tip toe and suddenly it’s gone
start to flash, a motor whirrs and father watches son.
door, a man is hanged, his final retribution
stayed with me across the years, that fairground execution.
camera wasn’t needed, way back in fifty three
didn’t need those photographs so others now could see
Jacque’s once stood, they still bowl balls, but of a different kind
stays, I don’t need snaps, they’re safer in my mind.
costs more than pennies now
death and grown-up fears,
magic’s now in Life’s Arcade
child of fifty years.
© Colin P Cadle 1995 - All Rights Reserved
This lovely poem has
been reproduced with the kind permission of Colin Cadle. Colin spent his
childhood holidays in Whitstable and now runs a web site providing
photographic images at www.colincadle.com
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