on movement

North-east out of the city
along the rolls and dips
through potholes and puddles
of the Manchester Road
into Castleton
The Commercial's loan smoker
coughing catarrh into the gutter
passing The Blue Pits
as one of its last customers leaves

over the Rochdale navigation
that leads to Huddersfield
the railway bridge
under which lies the line to Leeds

to the left the elegant municipal masonry
that contains Castleton Baths
(opened 1910)

rolling parallel to the cycle path
which cynical car-driving keyboard warriors of Facebook
love to hate
midnight is not so late here
buses trundle along
pausing to pour pissed passengers onto pavements
with slabs on the piss

down the incline
waiting in line at the platoon of traffic lights
guarding a junction
where a pile up of roads collide
on a swathe of street-light lit tarmac
so broad it might have been airlifted from a Soviet square
an expanse of carriage ways
so wide pedestrians are consumed with agoraphobia when crossing

its never dark here
blackbirds live in diurnal confusion
owls are nocturnally nuisanced
foxes trot about in the small hours
amber coats under amber lights
until the screen of dawn peels open
revealing silhouettes of budding trees against grey
the pouring rain on window panes
the reedy calls of Canada Geese
heading to the park
where they'll spend the day swanning about on the water
wondering whether the weather merits migration
or whether they should save their strength
and just stay and settle in
alongside the cygnets and swans

~

CLP 06/3/2026