Snap Tin
Up in the attic, back of a cupboard,
Top of a wardrobe, left in a drawer,
An old snap tin that might have been
made for
The photos. A time capsule holding a
hoard
Of uncles and dads, granddads and
grandmas
Pictured in pit boots and flowery
pinnies,
Helmets and headscarves. How pale the
skin is,
How broad the smiles, how empty of
cars
Streets were back then, headstock
staring down on
To close terraces. Suits and best
dresses
At galas though, where each banner
impresses
Still, even if the lodges are long
gone.
A meal of memories for kith and kin
To muse on, and share, from an old
snap tin.
Dave Alton
