On the towpath
which is no path
for the fainthearted
is where it all started,

watching the sticklebacks
separating fictions from facts
making several pacts with myself
which in turn turned into chains and
chained me to the troubles I went through.

Catching the dragonflies
making eyes at the jack pike
like I knew it was time
and time knew it was me

skating on thin ice because of the danger
and I was no stranger to that,

the developers moved in
filled the canal in
put up a building and
called it a museum

I see them in the backlight
down beyond midnight
still waiting to fight me
such is the memory