Long Rows

Written after a workshop on Imtiaz Dharker examining the subject of childhood and poverty.

The Long Rows in Clay Cross were where my mum grew up.

Click here to hear about the Long Rows

 

 

Long Rows

Here they come, ragged pullovers
smeared with dirt, snotty-sleeved,
pushing and fighting. 

Basin haircuts, running from the rain,
scrapping for playthings. Old boxes,
a burst casey, metal rods.

Always hungry, wanting to play
but wanting mam's tea more. Gulping
it down like dogs. 

Waiting for their dads to come home
from the pit. Some with joy,
some with fear.

And it'll be them too, after the grubby days
on the crumbling roads, doors open,
in and out.

Here they'll come, booted and black,
smeared with dust, throats on fire,
shattered.

Tim Fellows 2020