The Irish Boy Poem by John Rickell

It was 1840 and the potatoes failed,
The English printed postage stamps
While bison roamed the prairies.
We couldn't ‘fford the boat fare
Came here to build canals
And then they needed railways
So we lived in camps tin huts
tents anD barking dogs.
The railways soon were finished
The canals were silted up,
We were no longer wanted
So they sent us all down here
Called it Hun-gate since the Vikings
Wet beside the Foss, but free,
Bin here since great grandad
Our women scorned, except at night.
I go to school, play in the streets
My overcoat across the bed
Head to tail we try to sleep.
Charley Jones has a pencil box
Laughs, the way I talk and says I smell
Why don't I go to Ireland and
Take the blight back with me
I will do one day, you see
We'll all go, you see!
But just for now, I'll try to sleep
Listening to Mam and Dad.