The train clatters down the track
Clickety clack clickety clack
To deliver the coal and slack
From the pithead.
Smoke emanates from the dirty stack
Wives hanging washing out the back
From the outhouses of the back to backs
In Terraceville our suburban mill-town.
Kids play in the street and no- one cares
Mothers holler for their offspring and no-one dares
Be late for supper. Free from care
Because they are always there,
And we are taught to share
With each other.
Got no money put it on tick
Misbehave and you get the stick
Get drunk Friday and you’ll be in the nick
In our suburban mill-town.
Alison Jean Hankinson
The photos are from the Peter Fisher Archive and gallery….and this was where I grew up.
This is an attempt…. of sorts for poetics….for d’Verse poetics… I am not sure I achieved…it was not something I normally do…but we are here to learn…. so I have given it a go.