Sally Evans (1942 / London)
A Scots Family,1999
The young man, leaving by air,
a brisk wave at the turnstile,
a safe arrival on a sandy airstrip
where dawn and dusk are regular all year.
His sister, in London,
one among hordes of pretty postgraduates
picking fruit and books at charing Cross,
not yet ready to return.
And now their parents,
suddenly not so young,
locking their car and walking down a pavement
very slowly to the polling station.
Comments about this poem (A Scots Family,1999 by Sally Evans )
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