Hard Times But Fun
Manchester, born and bred, within a stone throw from the city centre
One of a family of nine kids and our mother as our mentor
In a place called Hulme, full of vagabonds and snot nosed scruff bags
Rope for belts, football boots with studs cut of as shoes and clothes of rags
Hulme was a hard place to grow, terraced housing, paved back yards and broken glass
The sound of gospel hung in the air as the black community attended daily mass
Sugar butties, porridge was the food we ate
No fatty Big Mac’s with salad-less salad on a false plastic plate
Trying to smash bottles that were laid out on top of a wall
From twenty or thirty yards with a cricket ball
Hopscotch, hula hoop, hide and seek were the games we knew
No X-box or computer games on the streets that we grew
There was social intercourse, chatter, friendship, warmth and love
Non of the Facebook, twitter, linked in and all that false stuff
Now the kids live in a pit of sole and isolation
As they tweet and twitter their nonsense across the nation
50, 000 face book friends they have never met, seen or knew
I wouldn’t swap what I had as a child
Would you?
Copyright © John Scott | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment