mum wore rollers, fluffy slippers, a brunch coat
& had no shame calling down rose street 'yink..
yink.. yink'/ which was short for our cats tinker,
baldy & gorger to come in for tea/ for mashed up
fish on newspaper on the kitchen lino/ in the end
all the cats within earshot adopted the name 'yink'/
mum stood on the step & called us 'da-ALE, co-RAL,
bren-DON' in order of who was in the most trouble/
& old girty wandered the streets with swollen legs
collecting bottles & cans & scabbing out of garbage
bins/ pushing a huge antique straw pram with bags
& bottles in it/ at first i thought she must have had
a baby in there/ that idea soon turned into a dead
baby & then a dead child around my own age &
then none of us knew what was in there/ we knew
if we got too close & she got her hands on us/ that
we would end up disappearing/ we threw rocks on
her roof/ the sound rang out down the street/ rocks
rolled down along the tin & pipes & fell off the
guttering/ we tried to ride our bikes away before
she saw us/ once she came down to our house to
complain to mum/ mum said 'get inside & pretend
no one is home'/ we yelled out 'no-one's home'/
so mum had to go outside & confront girt in the
driveway/ we looked out the window at her waving
her hands around/ girty had black hair sprouting
from her chin & cheeks/ once on a dare i went into
her house with a stray cat i had found/ she looked
like one of those women who would own hundreds
of cats/ i said 'old girt do you want a cat?/ she told
me to fuck off/ when she died it was said that rats
were eating her back through her floral frock/ she
had fallen face down to rot amongst the newspapers
