Monday 5 October 2020

november - a night of

 november - a night of

fart sulphur chimney smoke across

a foggy penny-for-the-guy night

along a ‘this is my street’ of doors

damp and orange corrugated lamps 

pub hwyl laughter stretched

between dumb-dark chapels 

glassy slag-black walls falling

up slag rubbled back trip roads 

tiny shops as silent as a cat

dropping down the rubbish back

of a damp sofa ratting in turn

under the soft pearl globes 

way down along station road 

and perhaps to the bed-end of another

and another long stark day

of a childhood as cold as

the ice on a bedroom window

or veneered down a wardrobe 

as sad as the rank urine steeped

in a bucket in a dark corner

where ne’er a twinkle twinkle little star

ever shone - not once - do you hear

not even once





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