cobbled nights
taplow terrace and rifleman’s row
a war bought night black
unsure footed
slagstone cobbled above the village
a terrace of neighbours stretching
the hillside’s boundary
from the up road
to the down-railed steps
to the slag tips beyond
a boy’s ankles speak in prophecy
of the next stone’s twist
the next plunge and savour
the knowing that the dark has language
that ouch was a cruel teacher
of a lesson well versed
that wings on heels are earned not given
and that street lights sing
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