She’s a naturally happy person.
The mottled concrete walls of the council block she’s moved in to,
Complement her pock-marked, pink skin.
For a rich person,
Kevin is a mousey young man with stringy brown hair,
Recovering from drugs,
And she thinks he looks like a very nice man.
They are playing football on cement outside,
-plants are expensive-
The doors to buildings are painted bright colours,
And stand out against the brown stone that is everywhere.
-talking over vegetables, around a table-
She thinks the young mothers coming in,
To learn how to grow turnips,
Learn how to grow confidence in much the same way.
Dirt sticks in clumps but really clothes come off eventually.
Did you know that people move here from Warsaw?
Makes you wonder what Warsaw is like-
Who’s fault it is that people can’t eat alcohol.
She’s hanging knickers out to dry and telling me that she’s discovered,
She don’t want all the shoes that she got,
And would it do to donate them,
And perhaps, a hundred and fifty thousand pounds?
For a rich person she’s lucky but,
They smile when they receive their checks.
Their blue doors fly open,
And when they say thank you, they mean it,
The money is enough.
Round the back,
The husband is in tears.
evocative short poetry – words move