On a day of scarecrows

The little patch of oil, beneath your sump

Called to me

To put aside Wray’s springtime pride

And ride my early miles, again.

➰

Where teenage fingers

Cold or burned, begged broken thread

To mend and seal

The engine’s heated flow

And let the boy get home

➰

And sliding frozen rump

From frozen saddle, fingers stiff

To feed and heal

In mother’s kitchen

The willing price of independence

➰

Where scarecrows end

The little patch of oil, beneath your sump

Sang to me

To put aside Wray’s springtime pride

And ride my life, again.

➰

©Stephen Tanham

The Wray Scarecrow Festival takes place in the lovely north Lancashire village of Wray each year in the first week of May. The beautifully restored pre-unit Triumph motorcycle was a complete surprise