I said Cushendall’s a starting point, and pictured
The coast road, first travelled in my pre-teens
In a hired mini-bus carrying two families
To a field with a caravan. I thought
It was paradise, no bricks, no graffiti,
A sky unlike any I had seen before, noises
Of sheep and cows and, jigging
On branches, birds excited to see us. Grass,
Two jumps from the caravan door, as high as my knees,
Swished as we ran to the fence and back. I widened
My eyes at the countryside, a city child’s senses
Alive with not enough learned words to describe it all.
When I said Cushendall’s a starting point, I meant
The beginning of a longer memory to explore,
Longer than the A2, further on past Cushendun,
Perhaps, even now, beyond my older man’s recall.
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