Hometown

This poem is about my hometown Rotherham.

HOMETOWN

Walking through the centre
my hometown,
a warm night, Saturday night.
Minster clock shines ten,
police sirens now a distant fade,
earlier, mouthy drunks
with EDL language
removed from the pub,
that I just left.

Yet! Silence runs through
to distant voices
standing on
smokey pub pavements,
town centre,
Saturday night.

Barren concrete,
no shadowy figures
for cameras to watch,
empty benches,
now the resting place
for the lone beer can
of a previous tenant.

Still devoid,
no town square voices
as I wait for tumbleweed
to roll in from side-streets
to converge
in the square
of disillusioned hopes,
unfulfilled dreams
of Jamie Oliver,
or even Mary Portas,
in this nightly ghost town,
where all have left.
Yet! It will be,
forever,
My Hometown.
©Carol Robson 2015