Tyler's Field

Behind the acrid petrol pumps

past the yarping, slip-slopped styes

on the bumpy track down to the dump,

was Tyler’s foot-worn field

Traction engines lit constellations;

a fantasia of electric light

that spangle the waltzing, squealing crowds -

too grey-gilled to mount a golden prancer

They pause to laugh

in the dark between rides

Steam snorts,

diesel chatters

brass balancers courtsey

remnants of chuffing, rattling history

a in living memory

on smokey summer air

At Ticklecock and Tyzak’s, with Farrar’s and Fowler’s

organ-threshed orchestras vie with the Mersey beat

Scream-boats fly, heroes pose and

painted panels picture magic lands

Coif and lace

Sunday best, rubbed money belts

Teddy Boys, Teddy Bears,

Penny slots, rifle shots,

And lovers are lost and found

while a goldfish hangs, bagged and alone

at the fair on Tyler’s field