I had to go back,

there were ghosts to kill.

.
I remembered the main street,

the bleak council houses,

and downbeat people

in that grimy town.
.

Almost killed

on that road.

.

Siblings in tow,

hurrying as usual,

late for school again,

crossing without looking…

Landrover screeching to a halt.

.

That irate red-faced man shouting,

me rushing away with my ragged flock.

.

“Get stuffed, you miserable bastard!” I yelled.

Everybody shouted and swore in those days.

.

I walked slowly to the house of my upbringing

in the middle of a rundown terraced row.

Same building except for the paint.

.

Bittersweet memories.

.

Six children in two bedrooms

telling crazy stories all night.

How we howled with laughter.

.
Forever avoiding the Carter boys.

The times when they finally caught me,

when they beat me for being a smelly belly.

.

I saw the pub where my father had his brawls

and I was proud when he beat McGonigal,

then he left us again and I hated him.

.

I continued past the housing estate

to the rubbish-strewn canal,

the place that I escaped to,

where the Carter boys

couldn’t find me.

.

I sailed with pirates,

defeated aliens,

slew dragons,

rescued maidens;

ran for the hell of it all.

.
I was a Masai stalking a lion,

I broke the 4-minute mile barrier,

I was the first to land on the moon,

I scored the winning goal for England,

I was Scott against the Antarctic winter,

I ran with Buck to answer the call of the wild.

.

Just a smelly boy with his smelly daydreams.

.

I quickened my pace as I returned to my vehicle.

.

There would be people who remembered me

but I decided to give them a miss.

.

I left them behind again,

left the town behind,

didn’t need them,

didn’t need it.

.

I wasn’t

smelly

now.