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Poetry
Eighteen Years in ...
By gwyddyn
22 July 2007
I spent my early years (18 of them funnily enough) living in an area of Widnes - near Liverpool if you must know - called West Bank.

Phew! that explains the title and the repetetive refrain, the rest is ... you decideUndecided

West Bank: birth, the first breath, a mother's breast
 - a father's pride.

West Bank: row after row of two-up two-downs, damp blackened walls, outside loo
 - tin bath by the fire.

West Bank: school, grazed knees and head lice, P.E. in the yard, semolina
 - Mrs Townsend's slipper.

West Bank: the river, the stench of mud, drowned kids in summer
 - a grieving mother.

West Bank: fishing boats, shrimps sold from back-yard gates, a shilling a bag
 - butties for dinner.

West Bank: open doors, neighbours in and out, cup of tea and a gossip
 - a close community.

West Bank: death calls, a fall in the night, a father lost
 - a family devastated.

West Bank: drinking beers in the park, close friends, careless days
 - the hottest summer on record.

West Bank: voices raised, blood on the ground, an ambulance's siren
 - a girl weeps in the dark.

West Bank: the onset of epilepsy, a hand in spasm, seizures in the street
 - the social stigma.

West Bank: first love, teenage lust, innocence lost in unthinking passion
 - a mother to be.

West Bank: a birth, a son, a mother's joy, a father's pride
 - a new generation.

Reviews

Written by Phil (6730 comments posted) 23rd July 2007
Enjoyed this. It gives a real flavour of place, time and self. 
 
Phil.

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