Your Stories
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Luis
He feeds the pigeons and the cats,
And keeps them apart, brings the wheelies back
From down the hill where the kids ride them.
His Spanish gets louder the more he drinks.
Everyone passing gets a shout,
while salsa or Jim Reeves invades the street
from his open door.
He takes photographs for evidence,
And the young men bait him.
He told me once he played football for Chile,
against Pele, before the coup, and exile.
He hasn’t slept well since they fractured his skull.
I believed him about Pele,
but later after more White Lightning,
He also claimed an affair with Judi Dench.
Terry Simpson
Spring-time in Woodhouse
My doorstep neighbour students
smoke weed and smile.
They are dilated to see me.
They act as if they’ve never seen me before
‘Hi man’
black steel security grilles
are thrown open to the sunlight
a woman batters on a door
‘let me in you bastard!’
It’s OK to lock people out
now the temperature’s gone up
kids play footy on terraced streets
of a thousand windows
car alarms erupt in spontaneous joy
wheelie-bins breath the odour of putrefying zombie
On Woodhouse Moor dogs shit cheerfully in the sun
no need now to crouch and cower against the weather
today they can be proud
The post office is selling beer
the off-license sells stamps
the corner shop sells balloons
and paraffin lamps
Its spring-time in Woodhouse
and what can you say
the sun has got his giro
hip hip, hip hip hooray
the sun has got his giro
and he’s coming out to play