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it were cracking’t pavements

the sky were chelsea blue

you were sucking cider

from an ice lolly

cos they said it made yer drunk

and we pretended it did


when yer scored a goal

on’t hay coloured pitch

yer mates were hot ‘n sweaty

and their celebrations

trickled down yer back

and salted yer lips


there were standpipes

at end’er sherwood grove

and we’d tek a daily


to fill a bucket er watter

fer drinking


the bog went unflushed

me dad said

it were an unnecessary waste

of public resources

but sometimes

well yer just had’ter


girls wore next to ‘nowt

hormones were buzzing

like wazzers on a flower

back gardens

thrummed ter the sarnd

o’t sex pistols


evening bonfires

stoked the air

wi sensory fog

adding t’ert feeling

that t’earth were burning

that t’earth were screaming


we walked away from’t school gates

for’t last time - threw’t books in a dustbin

are futures stretching a’fore us

and ‘t hot coal summer

were cracking’t pavements

but we knew there were a storm coming..

childhoodday 10description of weatherNaPoWriMo 2019nostalgiaregional

◄ A List Of Things We Buried In The Garden

Grit ►


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Stu Buck

Wed 10th Apr 2019 19:57

this is excellent ian. i used to buy cider lollies for that very reason. can never find them any more. makes me long for days not long passed.

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Brian Maryon

Wed 10th Apr 2019 15:35

Last line is perfect, ominous. I'm guessing the immediate pre-Thatcher period?

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