I saw my father running after the bus

We saw the trolley bus, small, like a child’s toy
Passing the bottom of our street
Once we went out on that bus to a park
Coming back,I was sitting at the front
Four years old
 watched them all get off
But I stayed still; as the bus moved off
I saw my father running after  us
He was shouting, but they went to the next stop
I felt no emotion except interest.He got me

The houses up the top had faces watching us
They were at an angle 
The geometry was  not simple
There was the back street we went on to school
 My brothers left me,I was running
A bicycle boy rode   over me
Nobody came
I was five years old

He lived on  a steep hill, my 6 year old boyfriend
He had  lovely  red hair
He let  me ride his tricycle
He had to catch me  before I hit Wigan Road
Which was  busy by the standards of the time
I was not afraid.He was under my thumb
I was six years old