The backstreet

Near sturdy cobbles rounded with tar packed
The gutter’s dirty grids held marbles drowned
Washing new hung out like rain damped macs

When the bin men came they used the back
The ash bin was full up,some on the ground
By sturdy cobbles rounded and tar packed

The sound of lorries terrified the cat
From his throat there came a frightful sound
Washing now inside, like rain damped macs

In the backyard was the privy dank
An air raid shelter full of wood we scrounged
Near sturdy cobbles rounded and tar packed

How the washing dried I cannot think
On the wooden maiden some was singed
Washing rarely dried, like rain damped macs

Five sheets, towels, the knickers, all were hanged
Waving in the drizzle like mens’ hands
Above the sturdy cobbles well tar packed
Washing in the back street, abject,pecked