when the fire blew down on
the night of wind and rain
when the cat was deep and
all were chaired to the hearth
of unsaid family lines
the raising of hearts in times
that were as dark as the night sky
before the stars and the snowy moon
shining as the fender brass and the
poker glowing red as hell
those songs hanging forever on
sleepy eyelids and weary bones
in the downing days of heavy time
cadillac was as strange a meme
as winsome as the movie toffees
and the longing for the other side
of any walled hillside
or the veneered panelled walls
behind which the cockroaches slept
until the fire died and we were abed
and then they came over the coal-grit
to eat the crumbs of the crumbs
that our meagre dinners had left ledgered
here in this corner of a neglected village
in wales
a people tipped under slag and
toil so numbing that the sinews of life
crystallised in grime and death that never died
in relief of times best forgotten now
for when you think of it
we cried enough dryness
to last a lifetime
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