Poetry

And he saw it now and then
the lamp lit row of houses that
stretched beyond the eye
houses where men who dug black
slept and drank when they could

ageless cobbles pried on
men who fought in the street
over want, women and work
while little men sons played
foolish games of childhood

daughter women with prams
mothered their plastic dolls
and the wives gossiped about
young Sally who had a belly
by John Stout the butcher boy

the reverend Ellis
knew all the stories and chapters
of life in this coal dust street
he birthed them baptised them
married and buried them

and the street was quiet
no vehement voices tonight
as the deed of death
slipped over the cobbles
and gripped a sleeping soul.