Uriah's Van

We pulled over

on the way back

from nowhere

in particular.

Drawn in

by the remembered

scent of bacon,

salty and smoked.

Someone was finishing

something hot-plated

in a bun, barm, cake or roll

the size of a dustbin lid.

The guy in the van

might have been

a retired wrestler

or loose-head from Cas.

This side of the Pennines,

being a customer

is an invitation

to the conversation.

‘You remember Geoff?’

‘’im what went down for..’

‘Ay. E’s still inside,

fookin’ did it again!’

‘E were allus a wrong ‘un’

bashed ‘is mate’s ‘ead in

wi’ a lump ‘ammer,

when we were at school.’

‘No, it were a claw ‘ammer,

It were a good school

no, really, it were.

Two bacon baps, ta.’

We would have stayed

for more gossip,

but the bacon

might have got cold.