White steps

I never actually saw my mother with

a cock in her mouth, but I could have done –

Arms in Belfast sinks full of pots - hour

after hour - clothes boiling on the

gas hob – the smell enough to tarnish poverty

itself.

I never actually saw her like

that - but remember her fingers burning

on that cast smoothing iron the spit zipping off.

Ladling plate after plate of porridge

to hungry mouths – sat around an open

fire – like birds in a nest - vests stretched over

scabby knees broken fruit boxes burning

too swiftly and gone – ashes.

I never ever saw her like that - yet

life dealt her and her kind an evil hand -

drunken men in every house whilst Bairn’s went

hungry - wives painted white steps in their

back-to-backs while the secrets stayed behind

closed doors and minds were ruined - twisted for-

ever.

I never saw my mam with a cock in

her mouth – not with my eyes anyway.

Just the rats scurrying in rain filled

gutters feeding on the rancid vomit

of man.