And he saw it now and then

the lamp lit row of houses that

stretched beyond the eye

houses where men who dug black

slept and drank when they could

ageless cobbles pried on men

who fought in the street

over want, women and work

while little men sons

played foolish games of childhood

daughter women with prams

mothered their plastic dolls

and the wives gossiped about

young Sally who had a belly

by John Stout the butcher boy

the reverend Ellis knew

all the stories and chapters

of life in this coal dust street

he birthed them baptised them

married and buried them

and the street was quiet

no vehement voices tonight

as the deed of death

slipped over the cobbles

and gripped a sleeping soul

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