Grey silhouettes

Grey silhouettes

Longing looks,

Gazing out to sea

In a wind dance

Drifting in the space between

Shadows and echoes,

Where the half-forgotten

Dream of what might have been,

Before the trumpet call

And the stories lost

In tall tales of glory,

When there was none.

Closed are the old mills

Steelworks rusted

Coal pits landscaped

Old shipyards mothballed

Glassworks full of blowflies,

Foodbanks are prime real estate.

Back-to-back houses stand

In sad rows,

Rendered in black and white

A pencil sketch

When there should be

A whole book full of colours

To thumb through.

Did Kathy ever come home?

She left an impression on me

That was slow to dissipate

Gradually bleeding into the background

A world of watercolours

A wash of faded memories

Hauntingly familiar

Without ever breaking free

Of the idea

Of a working-class

That has been lost

To a romantic ideal

Of old English history

When people with backs to the wall

Made the best of it

And were grateful

For the small things

So help me, god

If I hear that one more time

I will forget my place.