Spitballs against the brick walls
and flipping playing cards in the
backyards of some time back then,
between the factory and the clocking in
there was a world out there waiting
until the pithead led us down aways
through the tunnels where the coal
face looked grim.
We grew up to throw out our dreams of a future
but we threw out our hopes by mistake.
© 2018, John Smallshaw.