A Poem by Mary Ford Neal

Concrete

Sometimes it was ablaze with words and letters—
IRA PROVOS FTP gang names and
WE’LL NEVER FORGET YOU BOBBY SANDS
along the bridge
in letters as tall as my dad.
Who was he? I asked.
He was a man who killed himself.

But mostly it was spotless sparkling
in August sun or February frost
ringing under our skipping steps
tunnelling under the roads
and you would find
debris of adulthood down there
empty glue bags broken bottles
crushed cigarette boxes
and things they said were snakeskins
and you must never touch said dad
because as everyone knows
the skin of a snake is poisonous
and it never struck me as strange
that I never saw snakes about the place––
skins only.

The schools the church the library
pavements and paths
all my beginnings gleamed grey
my foundations
fixed.

I see less concrete now.

Mary Ford Neal is a writer and academic who lives and works in the West of Scotland. Her poems are published widely in magazines and anthologies and she was Pushcart nominated in 2021. Her first collection, Dawning (Indigo Dreams Publishing), was published in 2021. She is currently editing her second collection. Mary is assistant editor of Nine Pens Press and 192 Magazine. She is on Twitter @maryfordneal.