Slicing through the rain-filled night
Past Dronfield, Dore and Totley
By Ponsford’s windows all alight
By London Road’s damp motley.
And on and on we thrum and glide
Past the golf course in the gloaming
Where many a Tiger Woods has tried,
Now homeless dogs are roaming.
To the home of stainless knives and forks
When steel was king and reigned supreme;
Now a past of which no one talks
But only of their football team.
Off to the right, a dome-shaped building
A soldier’s hat without a rim
Just a store for the grit it’s holding
Ready for winter and stacked to the brim.
Past Sheffield College, slow we slide,
Escapees surge to reach the stairs
The unpressed find a place to hide
To scan The Star; discard their cares.
