Once it was the swish of scythes, nuns’ voices
raised in psalms, clip-clip of hooves,
thump and swill of washing on the Anker’s stones.

Later, the creak of winding gear, crunch
of navvies’ spades, a bargee’s yell, the songs
of men in uniform who would not return.

Then engines chugging down the cut,
tractor drone, the snarl of Heinkels overhead,
walls crumpling in nearby towns.

Now there’s the simmer of the motorway,
thud of boot on ball, blare of high-speed trains,
shouts of children coming out of school.

By night it’s TV garble from behind shut doors,
robins carolling in streetlight sun,
the hum of dreams high-flying to the stars.
Gill Learner
Location: Outside the butcher's shop (M.J. Smith)