A Town of Shadows
Ashington

I was born in a town of shadows.

The shadow of the black bridge,
where boys would crawl, hand by hand,
under rails in Beeching’s gaze,
cheating teenage death by drop
into the lazy Wansbeck.

The shadow of the Charltons,
who kicked their way out of here,
swapped a life of dirt and toil
for Wembley and Jules Rimet,
cheered on by the mining lads
through envy-gritted teeth.

I was born in a town of shadows.

The shadows of the coal rows,
lined up in parallel,
numbered like a New York map,
named for Shakespeare’s heroines
and upward-mobile trees.

The shadow of the pit wheels
that lowered men to dust-choke dark
to dig out black prosperity,
the rock on which this town was built,
till slamming to their final stop,
class war thrown in the spokes.

I was born in a town of shadows.

The shadow of the 80s,
when Thatcher and MacGregor took
a hatchet to the working man.
Divide and rule, divide and rule,
son, father, friend, neighbour.
See this town is on its knees
and kick it in the guts.

The shadow of the dole queue,
from Woodhorn Road to Rhondda,
lining up for cast-off crumbs,
another week of nothing for
someone with your skill set.
Go back home, don’t complain,
and better luck next time.

I was born in a town of shadows.

A shadow on a lung.

Joe Williams is a writer and performing poet from Leeds. His latest book is The Taking Part, a pamphlet of poems on the theme of sport and games, published by Maytree Press.
joewilliams.co.uk  X: @JoeWilliamsPoet  Insta: @joewilliamsleeds