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35 - Broxtowe Boys |
I'm on the estate with a book in my pocket:
seeing past and present;
that this was once an island of a building site
with gardens made of rubble, where tenants
mourned their cottages in Hyson Green
and kids from Westleigh Road threw stones
to gain control from kids off Whitwell.
You don't get shrapnel on the streets today,
still hot from a Heinkel, or barrage balloons,
and the woods have all but gone.
If you were any good at cricket now,
you could lob a six
across the trees in Broxtowe Woods;
hit a Neighbourhood Watch sign
in Nuthall
But houses on Frinton are pretty much the same
and neighbours are still neighbours.
There are still the men who knock on doors
to pick up weekly payments,
still houses where the kids
will say; she's at the shops,
still the; c ome in my duck, just mashing.
It's true, he might get Jamaican dumplings now
along with the odd Rich Tea.
True, boy racers scream along the streets
in cars, as well as boys on bikes.
There are far more houses,
and more locked doors.
But all in all, of you ask me,
there's more that's stayed the same
than changed and Broxtowe,
is still Broxtowe.
© Rosie Garner |
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