Thursday, 22 September 2011

Streets of Gold

[Note: This poem was commissioned as part of my residency at Zion Arts Centre, which has been to develop writing for a centenary celebration in Hulme on Sunday 9th October.]
 Front room parlour games
tasted of malt and hops; local
men together; smell of sweat
and leather. 666 pubs and beer
houses, as the Devil squatted
over boozy-breathed 'Ulme:
the streets ran gold with lager
and piss, women mopped wet flags
and painted steps with donkey
stones pressed atop, casual
lovers. 'Ulme without an aitch,
the way it was, the way it should be.
Hear the march of the approaching
Boys' Brigade. 'Ulme. Home. Forever.

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