Bethan Townsend

I wanted to share it with the big ginger cow,
As it was best described then and now.
It wasn't exciting like the ice cream boats in Kirkby,
The sherbet dips at Parbold or thick Cornish cornets.

But we were pictured devouring, banana yellow Scottish cream,
Our faces, painted white, dripping in pleasure,
Ginger cows in the distance,
An Aviemore playground remembered as heaven.

I grabbed a cow by the horns pretended it was a motorbike,
It's angry tongue licking at the cream patterning my shirt.