steam trains whistling in the night
the gentle daytime chug
pistons moving powerfully
forgings hammered in the distance
crack of wood in a fireplace
the selfish spit and snap of coal
caught with unexpected traces in it
the rag-and-bone man's cry
'Old iron! Old iron! '
the clink of milk bottles on floats
the bucket and shovel for warm droppings
from the Co-op breadman's horse
and ordered to put moaning Minnie on
the kettle whistles our cue
for a pot of tea
the squelch of rain in puddles
on Brindley's towpath
rats scurrying to the factories
beside the water
a hidden army of wild cats
waiting in ambush
the smell of chorine in the swimming baths
where blue-green water hides silence
beneath echoes
and skimpy costumes cover mysteries
yet to be explored
damp washing hanging before the fire
on wet Mondays
the mustiness of the tail-wagging dog
keen to shake off the downpour
Mother cooking in the kitchen heat
Dad in his overalls
coming through the door
reflections from the gable-end lamp
casting shadows around the bedroom
disguised
the odour from the bucket
waiting to be emptied
in the morning
all this has gone
but lingers in corners
hidden from onlookers
until an old man murmurs
into isolated air
'Is tea ready, Mom? '
(c) Len Webster 2011
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem