Along This Path Poem by Kevin Hulme

This path saw many men on a morning,
Walk to work ‘Lowry' like to a new shift.
Laughs at some smutty joke, that Goal offside.
Sons dressed as Fathers, Father's dressed as Grandfathers, the result of lost ambition.

For There lying up ahead the Factory looms like a Dystopian City.
Through the gates and Wages for odd nights out,
Or stretching to a wet week in Blackpool.
Night shift pass along ready for warm beds,
Warm Wives and the emptiness of the hours.
But when the axe did fall it severed clean,
No member of the House of Fawkes could help.
How the Job Centres Gut was gluttonous.
All dignity stripped and cast in a heap,
Sons broke briefly, Father's broke mortally.
Now this path is quiet as an old Sabbath.