Poem #2,716 | She was never born to remain

She was never born to remain
in Uckfield –
that half-life town
where they add less to –
A baby
cries on that hour’s Number 29
to remind her of other losses &
best-left times –
In her dress a
timely goddess –
a hippy-child
still well alive
[eye-lined lower
lashes a retro streak of black] –
single ticketed off to Brighton
where her flamboyance is well
met by that broader townsfolk