Gang found it side of canal down Lovers Lane.
Canal too full to flow of ancient bedsprings,
glossy wheel trims. Over a fag scratched their names
in its skin, shinned it, slung a rope round a limb.
over the water. Who could swing out further
without a wet? Then big lad Wayne had his turn.
Expected happened. Limb snapped. Told his mother
he’d slipped in a puddle while we’d all sunburn.
Later, some of them, like him and wife when courting
would boast of these cracks. Even then tree looked ragged.
All wrinkly and scabby wounds. Still some sporting
sap all over hacked their names  ‘LUV’ or heart tagged.
Then big lad Wayne overreached on a joyride.
Took collectors Chevvy, dumped and set it aflame.

Too close. Childhood Tree went up. Now waterside
him and wife see younger carvedhearts in it’s remains.

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