No mere Punch and Judy show,

A child’s heart beat deeper,

skipping to the electric,

electrifying, entrance of

Dreamland’s class act.

 

Laughter from the hall of mirrors,

toffee apples, screams from

the big dipper, chips in

newspaper, ghost trains,

 

Candy floss. A wall of death,

saucer-eyed disbelief

that motorbikes could really

stick to the side.

 

But now at summer’s

ageing end, boarded shops

and dead echoes

replace Dreamland’s lights.

 

Each tired letter grips

weakly to the tower and

leaves that fell last year

still swirl in the cold breeze

against the padlocked gates.