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--chosen-work--
The Don at Swinton
He sits where the sunlight is pale
top of the steps his bottle close at hand
rain is coming - you can see it
veil the dirty hillside where allotments stand
The nearby river surges past
Many days with his carrier bag
I see him sit there amongst trash
a life gone too far on some path
to despair and his madness speaks only
to space and the river mounting fast
He sits where the bargees would haul
their boats from the coalfields of Elsecar Wath
and from Barnsley from here they would
fall down to canalside through Mexborough
to meet with the troublesome Don
Where he sits when the weather is bright
are broken lock gates open wide
but with deep growl of thunder rain snow falling
night coming soon he does not stir.
Nearby trees roll as the river floods on