Grey bin days

Ash spilling

Sparking

From beneath

Buckled

Loose-fitting metal lids

Carried back- breakingly

To the monstrous wagon

Limping it’s way

Around the close

Like a club-footed relic
 

Behind the chipped

Leaded glass of number thirteen

A terrible gargoylian face

Pressed up close

Stares out

Mrs Ashall has seen a football fly over her neat ...

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Away from the city

The town

It's 'nice' districts

And 'not so nice'

Is where I find you

And Dad

Even though you've been gone

For over a decade.

You'd rummage round the big market

in Fleetwood

Drink tea, coffee

Toasted teacakes

From a local cafe

Staffed by friendly ladies

With time on their hands

Got up to look like maids 

In an old Victorian cou...

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