Playing Away Poem by Ruth Walters

If you were to strip the canvass away,
scrape the surface a little,
you may see a different picture.
Errant parents, drinking, gambling,
indulging in debauchery,
no time for kids.
.
Dark, grim houses line
the depressing camber of the hill
in varying shades of grey.
Cloying smoke pours
from hideous chimneys.
Maybe that's all there is to do?
.
Two walls, oppose each other,
Names are inscribed in
sprinkles of colour, blues and pinks,
emphasising the dullness of the bricks.
Children are at play
and parents are playing away.
.
Strewn around are make shift racing carts,
wheels, separated, in odd positions,
dustbins, lidless, school caps, odd coats,
hang from telephone lines.
You can almost smell the poverty,
and unyielding rows of two ups, two downs.
.
Each lofty abode looks ghostly,
but the children are carefree.
They busy themselves with frolics.
bringing the canvass to life in flecks of colour,
contrasting the unforgiving truth
daubed by the artist's gifted hand.
.
.