We, for sure, could do a rollcall
Of the decade days before the world reset.
It was our Eden, our own creation.
Nomadic, we claimed tired halls
Trapped-fly lights buzzed and crackled
As we hugged iron radiators
and chipped mugs of tea.
“Who’s brought the milk?
And tell me there’s biscuits.”
Those hours of communal solidarity.
Arms ached from playground trips
“Spin us again and again!”
Raucous delight: free spirits in flight
Dangling, climbing, pushing boundaries
As nerves were pushed to the edge of ours.
Me sunburnt in March: playing they grew
Standing still while they ran in November:
“Go home, your lips are blue.”
Months punctuated by crafts and cakes
Christmas shows and sports days.
Cars bedecked, glitter scattered
Sand filled shoes and.. and… and
And all they can’t remember.
“Who’s taking the rubbish home?
And did we sweep beneath the chairs?”
Rubix car rides swap kids back
And switch them round and home again.
Bags of clothes, books, games-
Passed between and back the same.
“Check the windows. Check the doors.
Who’s got the key?”
I think we’ve all kept a key.
To that Eden we pritt-stick stuck
Together week by tangled week
In those halls and in those parks
That we claimed for our own.
Overgrown in our memories
Now the world’s reset itself.
All the things they can’t remember
Paperchain linking us forever.