Lyons Maid

Memories of wet set sand
Conjure up my wriggling back,
On a hot car seat in 1978.

Something from Lyons Maid melting
On polyester shorts,
And that faded orange colour
I remember from photographs.

Were our childhoods like that?
Bleached in fading Kodacolour
Or, is just that memories
Are slaves to surviving images,

The ones that slipped the noose
Of forgetfulness and childishness
And innocence and truth.