Poem on the Eve Before A Long Weekend in Worcester

Stoking that mythic engine, seeing what serpents
and sea monsters, this time, glide in that
reservoir of mysteries.

I reserve the right, but;
I shall see London road at twilight,
from the base of the hill, past the old house at 136
to the Chinese takeaway on the Corner.
Lark Hill Service station.
The trees are gods here.

I remember the heat, a year and a week ago.
That metallic taste of trains
and tarot cards.

The madman saying everything had to change.