First thing hits me is the flats
This ain’t my habitat
Balconies in the Sun
People go on holidays for that
Few people lounging on the grass
Having a can, having a laugh
Go quiet as I pass
Almost see their eyeballs ask
‘What’s he looking at?’
So I divert my eyes back
To the flats
Red brick stacks
Taking in the now
Wondering bout their past
As in the now they seem serene
These streets I walk between
To me silently scream
Beckoning me in more
Pass a man
Smiling in his door
I ask him, is he well?
His eyes smilingly tell
As he looks at the Sun scorching me
Lifts his hands
And says,
‘How could ya not be?’

© Daniel Breslin