Post Industrial; 



Mill kitchen, part of
The postindustrial landscape I see every day
But not the miserable 1980’s mills
Crumbling, on fire, deep depths.
This Mill,
Long gone are the workers
their time here just a memory.
A remembered scar where a touch calls to mind
A shuttle piercing the two bones of the forearm
A momentary call of attention to
Another’s voice.
Family, that’s what it was here in
The 1940’s.
Tea dances on a Friday night
At Pudsey Baths
Covering the turquoise freshness with
Boards and a Big-Band,
feverish, fervent dancers
Desperadoes and double-crossers
Two timing two steppers
Ardent looks, firm thighs
Hands…
But yes the past is part of the present and

who would have it any other way?

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