Daily down to Cannock Centre strides the ageing lady, Trish.
Knees and back now worn have bent her.
Yet she likes to dream she’s fit.
Head held high and proud eyes shining,
Past the college built round mining
And the bowling green triangle
Where our white-capped players wrangle,
Seats suggest it’s time to linger - by the bandstand rails she’ll sit.
Golite jacket in cold weather keeps her warm and looking smart.
Fashion boots in suede or leather,
Matching gloves and scarf are part
Of a picture cool and crispy.
Hidden hair is white and wispy.
Nearing eighty, yet so nifty,
She’d look good if only fifty.
Yet her breathing’s somewhat laboured – showing signs of failing heart.
Paper shop’s her destination, where they keep the Times for ‘T’.
Noting Barclay’s renovation,
Boots the Chemists next she’ll see.
Cannock town’s regeneration
Is a cause for celebration.
Past and present mingle briefly.
Mines are closed and now it’s chiefly
Pubs and clubs with supermarkets - no more coal dust floating free.
By the ring road is the station, where the buses wheel around,
Midlands towns their destination,
One a day for London bound.
Monuments record past glory.
Mine museums tell coal’s story.
And the Royal British Legion
Stands unchanged within the region
Of the Park and pretty gardens, tennis courts and golfing ground.
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