Sidney Beck Poet Imagism

Tram Bell

TRAM   BELL



Steep streets everywhere you played,
Where your football would roll away forever;
And sawdust spilt out of the butcher’s onto the steep sidewalk 
Among the feet of the tram queue,
All listening keenly to hear the bell sounding 
From the tram which was overdue.
All gazing distantly over the rainy Team Valley
And its mills and foundries turning coal 
Into steel bridges and ship hulls
For  the steeply entrenched Tyne. 
At the bell’s sound, everybody shuffled forward,
Leaving the sawdust footprints 
To be washed away in the rain.

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