For most young working class loyalists the routine would have been the same: When school finished st the end of June the period between then and the eleventh night centered around the “boney”. Most of your waking hours were spent there and sometimes you slept in the hut as well–guarding the wood from raiders. You took a piece out of the house–jam and bread–Veda and cheese–and stayed there till all hours. You became so attached that when bonfire night came round you didnt want to see the wood being burned………………
A Kingdom of Pallets
Timber stacked high—an edifice to the sky
A labour of love—months in the making
Blood—and sweat-and tears-and tears- and fret
And frayed clothes and nerves and backs ready for breaking.
Like ants we scramble to the summit and review
Our wooden kingdom distended far beneath
And marvel at the effort and endeavour
Basking in the glory of the Empire at our feet.
Proficient in the skills required to build
A structure that won’t stand the test of time
A configuration of lumber, sticks and kindling
A mountain—that is ours alone to climb.
We linger in defiance of the moment
Rebel against the once appointed time
Stall in an instance of non compliance
And postpone the sure and downward climb.
And gaze from a distance when finally grounded
Eyes moist and faces still as figurines
Despondent that our realm should turn to ashes
Downhearted –thinking of our smouldering dreams.
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