I walked from Hangman Stone
Where crime swung on a gibbet
Outside villages as post it note
Stone church entrance embedded
In three red hearts three white skulls
Memory jogger
Here stone, wood, metal Christs open
Their wounds in three streets.
I walked towards Thurnscoe, a cock stride away, faced a grassy slagheap
Walked dusty ground broken glass, patchwork carpet oddment lining fields, two unhelmeted Scramblers/ riders screamed past
Two young boys help tractored farmer gather golden corn harvest
Laugh together in field edged
By housing estates
I walked down Chapel Lane
That no longer leads to a Chapel
Hard business thinking