SIXTY-THREE, SIXTY-THREE YEARS ON... A POEM ABOUT CHANGE.

Sixty-Three, Sixty-Three Years On…

I lived at number 63,

‘Auntie’ Ron lived next door

And often, when she walked to or from a ‘bus,

I rode my tricycle alongside

On clean, clear pavements,

With trash noticeably absent…

All smiles for the camera and no fuss.

Greyscale, uncluttered, just ‘Auntie’ Ron and me…

I returned 63 years on,

To see a new, white door

And parked vehicles jammed along gutters;

I strolled alongside my old abode

On crude, uneven paving slabs,

With litter not noticeably absent…

Wary eyes watched as my steps became stutters

And any belonging I had felt was soon gone…

Undeniably and correctly,

Life moves on 

From greyscale

To dull modernity:

From clear roads to parking places,

From neat hedges to walled niches;

From small gardens to wheely-bin spaces,

From plaster reliefs to satellite dishes:

And effectively and inexorably, 

Life blunders on…

Littered and cluttered,

Life clambers on

From simple through complex

To current insanity:

From safer streets to kids kept from harm,

From chats over fences to spying eyes;

From accompanying a neighbour to a burglar alarm, 

From simple home truths to abominable lies:

And manacled and fettered,

Life splutters on…

Pete Ray

April 2017

I lived with my parents and grandmother in a terraced house in Ward End, Birmingham until I was nearly seven.

I loved the image of ‘Auntie Ron’ and me in Bamville Road and having lived at number 63, I returned to look at the same street 63 years on from that image…

I need say little more.

Ron passed away very recently indeed and I must dedicate this poem to her memory…  

RON & ME, 1954...

2017...

NUMBER 63...

THE ROOM I SLEPT IN...