perfect pattern paving built for hopscotch

roads wide as the dirty River Mersey     

side to street a hundred feet

plenty space for kerby

plenty more for ollies green

smashed to glassy smithereens

by Kevin Roberts dobber

in the gutter

 

twenty pair maternal eyes scrutinize the scene

behind the nets nothing goes unnoticed

every single misdemeanour noted and transmitted

supersonic bulletins of social misbehaviour

dispatches travel faster than the speed of sound or light

penance follows quicker than a wink

 

outside in the alleyway

salvationary bog

lacked electric light and inner lock

dirtyscary spiderwebbed saviour of the careless child

delivered us from shaming yellow knickers

piddled all the quicker on the cold and snowy days

 

secondhanded vehicles the weekend entertainment

forehead scratchers crowd around the one remaining Haynes

consulting oily oracle, extrapolating data

communicating contradicting estimating engine parts

sorting out solutions on the cheap, communally

see the scrappy, bartering a favour for the spares

 

winter sunshine sinks beneath the farmerfield rise

and the trig point, where you can see for miles on all sides

and the hollow of the Dell

and the ditches full of dens

teatime dishes clatter onto tables laying down

butter placed before the fire for half an hour's heat

plates are warmed and so it seems that every single family

is eating Irish stew tonight

going by the smell upon the River 

 

Epilogue

 

The River Estate, Merseyside.

A 1975 pre-Thatcher slice of life.

Community and care

where the posh kids parents stared

through the windows of their Rover

then kindly let me know that it was

"Quite nice, really, for a council house estate"

 

which surprised me, cos I'd only ever thought of it as home.