Those greened South Yorkshire hills,
fringed by mock period homes,
flags flying to advertise their wares,
while emptied stares,
gaze
at the littered railway tracks
remembering,
work stained faces,
the walk home to pie and mash,
pints and turns on a Saturday night;
no need for reality TV.
The despoiled hub of steel and coal,
an engineered trap,
snared by Poundland, Primark, Matalan
and Boothes,
buyers of all good scrap.
Bernadette Oldfield
