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To the sound of scrunching leaves and traffic

This ol’feller  pushes t’other ol’bloke in a wheelchair

Down a dreary Salford road in late November.

Always talking, talking of nothing,

Talking of everything,: the past and what’s t’be.

What it takes and never gives back. The load.

With wheels of fire and halos running all amuck

These two desperados meandered along past

The pound shops and the bookies and the booze 24/7ers

They know all these places very well. Too well.

Dave pushes Gaz through the kebab and fag litter

Outside Hope’s old A & E, past the smokers,

Through the entrance, towards the woman,

They’ve come to see; their lovely mam. 


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