Dead Pigeon

Walking home the other day I came upon a dead pigeon in the street.  The way it lay and the colour of the carcass led me to imagine that rather than being crushed into the pavement it was actually emerging out of it...

I snapped a photo of it and my talented friend Adry Ruiz (@xxxadryxxx) translated it into a pencil drawing to accompany this poem

From the ash of the asphalt I am born

fledged from flagstone streets

I will dance for you through broken air

for you will I thrill in flight

I am the chill of the wild in the town

I am a child in the still of the sky

settle my soul in the spirit world

fashion me feathers and fly

as a shaman's cape will I shelter you

although I am crushed and torn

for though my entrails grace the ground

no harm to me now can come

I'll dance once more through the greasy air

dance once more by the bridge

dance once more on the frosty street

where you creatures of the city live

come, dance with me as the day begins

dance with me as it ends

feed me scraps from the morsels bag

feed me love from your lips

I have the courage of an iron bear

the grace of a violin

I have the strut of an ancient mare

that drinks by the river's brim

for though I am crushed and split apart

though I am shattered and crazed

I live with you in the city's heart

wherever a city is raised

Friday deal

London Road

dark Friday night

and two

young men

one on his bike

are loitering

on the pavement

the other

next to him

negotiating

some transaction.

My heart pumping

I approach

wary of the implication.

When

I reach them

I see

that he

on the left

is pouring

into the hand

of he

on the bike

skittles

- go on have a few more.

Taste the rainbow

Windowsills

Picturesque Valley Road, Heeley

These are

things

people have
on windowsills

on Valley Road

and some on 
Brooklyn

a sleeping cat
in black and white

two small dogs,

barking at me

and then at each other

an empty vase

like a large

upended aubergine

a stained glass tablet
propped against the pane
featuring
a church
beneath

an abstract sunset

a blue acrylic dragon
breathing
red acrylic fire
from its nostrils

another cat

mackerel
also sleeping

an alabaster sculpture
four inches tall

that gives the impression

of a couple embracing
two round heads
and encircling arms

a scrap of paper with

a shopping list
written in a ragged hand
in blue pen
including bacon
bread
and butter

a sticker sign 
that has peeled from the glass
warning that

all 
our belongings

have been

postcode protected

a dead moth
lying on its back
with
its legs approaching
the air 
from beneath

a tray
of leggy seedlings
leaning towards
the sunlit street

match day

The crowds are out

it’s match day

and Bramall Lane draws

a constant current

of stripeshirted men

boys

scarved women

girls

A’Salt and Battered

is queued up

down the road

never seen it so busy

selling chips by the galleon

I’m against the flow

and he spots me yards off

as he climbs the street

past the Cremorne

till we coincide

outside cake‘r’us

he raises his left hand

in a high five salute

a black guy

about forty five

says

how’re ya doin?

we’re passing nearside and

instinctively

I raise my left hand

to give him back the greeting

it can’t hurt

he’s perhaps a little

squiffy

but

ah, he’s got me

holds onto my hand

now engulfed

within his

cold dry palm

a bricklayer’s hand perhaps

smooth calloused skin

It’s been a long time, he says

has it? I smile

you don’t remember?

oh, say I, no

do I know you?

you don’t remember?

I don’t think so

where do I know you from?

you tell me, he says

I can’t think… down south somewhere?

that’s it

London?

that’s right

funny, I say

I don’t remember at all

oh yes, says he

oh yes

he’s got me eye to eye

you know what I’m doing now?

he licks his tongue

around the gaps in his front teeth

soft and wet

er, an electrician? 

I hazard

I'm enjoying the cheek of it

no, I’m on the streets

I’m sleeping on the streets

oh no, really, where?

car park at end o’t Moor

oh

y’know what? he says

what?

I’ve been out since nine o’clock

nine o’clock this morning

just trying to get three pounds

for something to eat

just three pounds

just for something to eat

he looks at me full frontal

I hate to ask, he says

oh, right, I say

let me… er…

he let’s go of my hand

so I’m fiddling in my pockets now

just looking for something

my change purse

something

I find a penny

I’d picked

off the pavement earlier

but a penny’s not enough

he’s got me on his hook now

there’s no wriggling free

can’t find it anywhere though

so the bag comes off my back

and I’m rooting around

where’s my bloody change purse

God, I hate this

nope not in my bag

test my pockets again

and there it is

I hate to ask, he says

I tip the contents into my hand

two two pence pieces

a waitrose trolley token

and a two pound coin

I give it a last wistful look

as I drop it in his outstretched hand

I hate to ask, he says

well that’ll get you started

I say

that’ll get you started

he looks me in the eye again

takes my hand in his

in a formal handshake

I’m very grateful

he says

very grateful

No worries

no worries

look after yourself

Bless you sir

bless you

and I walk off 

smiling

and feeling slightly

mugged

Lucy laughs at Marek

At the foot of

Shirebrook Road

two ten year old girls sit

on the steps of the house

that once used to be the old

Mini Motorparts Shop

they watch a boy

dancing bad parcour

around the yellow

municipal grit bin

girl two is giggling

at the boys looping

tumbles

girl one says

ok Marek

you made Lucy laugh

you made Lucy laugh

but you’ll never make me laugh

Marek

you’ll never make me laugh

Lucy in her

leopard skin dress

continues her giggle

and Marek continues

his dance

Anyway

Anyway

Young Yorkshire mum

with two young sons

walking up

Upper Valley Road

I’m in behind her

admiring her

South Riding

two undulating hills

in pure grassgreen

brushed cotton

that needs smoothing

I’m thinking

but I don’t…

Does my bum look big in this?

I’m remembering from the TV show

and I’m silently answering

Yes

but in a really good way.

Anyway

Son One is up ahead

testing out his leadership skills

knowing the way

Number Two a good bit younger

is hanging back and

has just hit whine mode

Anyway

she sounds pretty

patient with him

cooing and cajoling

but he’s climbing the whine gears

with indistinct complaining

and with each rising note

you can hear her

jaw clenching and

her teeth gritting.

Anyway

eventually

he hits High ‘Me’

and finally her fury

bursts buttons on her blouse

like popping candy

and she Yorkshire yells

“What, Timiteo?!

Anyway

we’ve got to go shopping!”