The family group; circa 1984

They called it a new town
but it was already old to me
with it's pre-fab houses
and grainy concrete precincts
Down the market end, by the meat porters
benches huddle back to back;
each gathering it's fair share of in-bred pigeons
and double buggies wielded by tattooed skins
and booted girls with studded chokes;
Taking turns to watch the kids and
blowing their giros on 14 hole docs

But up at the top end, past the Henry Moore
- where my stubby fingers would stretch
to reach the fathers knee, or the mothers hand -
Eve watches over the box lined beds and lily choked pools;
where over-coated old men nurse special brew
and watch the fish flash gold through man-made rain,
inventing their own kind of zen

It didn't give me much
An unmistakable accent and a certain resiliance to jokes
A dodgy claim on XR3is and white stillettos
Yet, I'll hold your eye while you try out your mockney
fumble your aitches and gab about TOWIE
There ain't three seaxes on a shield for nuffin

'meat porters' 'Eve' and 'Henry Moores family group'
are public sculptures