Not one memory of the place contains rain,
yet here it is now, siling it down, windscreen
runnels melting the house front’s worn brick,
its unmatched windows and the door
with the high letter box, from which news,
good and bad, drifted down for 18 years.
Odd that rain is not remembered, while snow
builds miniature ranges in gutters
and sun bakes gravelled tar into dinner smells,
fag smoke and sawn-off woodyard scents.
Today the strongest stink is said to be of weed
from dealing dens, the talk is of fireworks
launched into neighbours’ homes. But only
at the top end of the street, a resident proclaims,
the end that was for night-time gatherings
under the iron lamp in games of growing up,
baked bean kisses and long drags on rescued nubs,
before seeking, hiding, then vanishing inside
to listen to adult voices wonder
how they might escape this place.
Trevor Breedon lives near Canterbury in Kent. He started writing poetry in 2014 after a career spent working as a sub-editor on newspapers in Sheffield, Nottingham and London. He is a member of two poetry groups, SaveAs Writers in Canterbury and SoundLines in the Sandwich/Deal area.
Chatsworth Street by Trevor Breedon was commended in the Sentinel Literary Quarterly Poetry Competition (April 2021) judged by Mary Anne Smith Sellen.