Past Times

Sat and watched some nostalgia today, All about Salfords death and decay. Sad to see but it had to be slain It had to come down to rise up again, But the way it was done was all in vain. New houses for old was the alluring cry, No one noticed the neighborhood die. People packed up their world in a moving van, And that's when the exodus first began. It rolled across the district like a tidal wave. The folk banded together for one last wake. Street parties abounded to give the kids cake. Folk stood at front doors, arms across chests, They said, well, he didn't have much that's for sure, Next doors gone so where's me coat and hat, Suppose I 'll go check out that high rise flat. Our turn tomorrow, demolition starts day after, Our history crushed to rubble, what a disaster. The neighborhoods gone never again to arise. I've watched them all go with tears in their eyes. We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when. The life we had shared, taken with the stroke of a pen. © Dave Timperley. Easter Sunday, 2018