7. Jan, 2017

Daily Bread

The town changes.
The Georgian colonnade no longer trades in wool.
The mills, with names like slaves,
Perseverance, and Hope,
Next clarioned their owners' greatness,
Spreading the news,
To mansions and philanthropic projects,
Proclaiming them guardians
Of their own, other people's,
And, hopefully, heavenly estates.

But in the end,
They are anonymous in death.
It is a school that is Crossley's, a park that is Savile.

Gladstone still glowers above Kingston Hall,
Outgazing to outrank the Constitutional Club opposite.
But underneath, only bathroom fittings
Jostle to congregate.

Down the street,
Where the sweet factory
Tossed you nosegays of melting caramels,
There's a Nafee's shop,
Piled with pyramids of Asian confection,
Bright as sugar mice.
Saris, not dresses, grow dusty
In the old shop windows.
The town changes,
But commerce continues.

Ruth Enright