my dad remembered

his dad remembering

his ancestors’ ‘rememberings’

of trout frolicking

in Wigan’s once

cool, clean, clear river

(you could bathe in it

and drink from it)

 

I remember

my enthralment

and pals’ fascination

(which I related to my brood)

that polluted interlude

when I watched

rainbow colours dancing

on the meandering

oil-slicked surface

and playfully spiralling

in the eddies

 

I suppose the river

is back to normal now

though I’m not sure

what normal is

 

but I’ve recently heard

that the trout

although hesitant with fear

are eagerly waiting

for someone

to give them the all-clear