The Blackhorse Place Lamp Post

8 Nov

The Blackhorse Place

lamp post

knew all our secrets.

Long summer evenings,

we would gather around him,

to skip and skate

or swing from his strong arms.

Then he would be den

for hide and seek.

In the winter,

muffled in duffle coats,

we’d cling to his glow

and beg five more minutes,

as mothers stood at gates

to call us in.

As years passed,

new and more sophisticated haunts

replaced our lamp post,

and other children gathered in his light;

until, one day,

bent and rusting,

burdened with too much knowledge,

our friend was carried off,

and in his place,

a smarter lamp post stood,

upright and officious.

Not the sort,

I thought, to keep a secret.

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