I come from slum clearance, waiting forever
for posterity and re-generation
the men at the bookies and the bar
and the women and kids just survived
washing day on Monday’s
and back to backs
I come from riddled streets, hammering,
woodbines and smog
I come from Co-op divi,
Clarks sandals, knitting
games of cards on a Sunday night
an inside bathroom when I was eight
I come from a Christmas annual
free school milk, skipping, Enid Blyton
and home-match football programmes
a family of hard labour and clocking on
a Welsh Nan and an unknown Grandmother
from the past before me
I come from a secret
I come from Sunday morning; Family Favourites
variety shows, party games, picnics
and days out from the bricks
I come from ants disappearing in cracks
and drunks to avoid on a Saturday night
except I nearly got caught once
I come from busyness
I come from a back-yard
from my dad cutting air, turning the knife on a stone
from tarmac, walls, gates and entries
street-games; British Bulldog 1-2-3
from the sound of demolition
of rubble, rubble, rubble