On that sixth-form geography field trip,
we hadn’t got that far
before the coach stopped,
pulled over in a lay-by on the Great North Road.
I wrote an essay on new town developments.
Houses happened behind revêtements,
the last of these fields to go.
You could just about see
the concrete cows
along peripheral horizons.
I traded in some unwanted records
at stalls spilling out from the shopping mall.
Under rain-scaped skies, we walked back,
paid the ticket, got into the car, went home.
Copyright Tom Phillips 2011