A recent photograph of Wickrath flats

The playground’s gone 
where once I was a bird and flew 
from long chained swings
to land in a Sahara of sand.
No paint-chipped monkey bars. 
No jungle 
where my evening gibbon-call
could light a hundred windows.


It’s cleaner now
the flats are brilliant white
and where the playground was
is an oasis treed with shade.
If you look closely you can see 
just where the light breaks in
families sprawled on bright blankets.
A father swings his child to catch the sun.
Everyone is smiling.