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Poetry Library Southbank Centre - The Poetry Library housing the Arts Council Collection at Southbank Centre

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Angela Cooke

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Workmen

‘We’ll have a brew now love, if that’s OK.’
Three times a day, she leaves a tray
Near the ladders.
They ladle sugar into the orange tea
Until the sooon stands knee-deep.
‘Thanks love. Just the job for growing lads.’

They kid the sad lady
They tell her tales of dates with tarty birds.
Their radio has channels she’s never heard.
They sing-a-long vulgar raucous songs.
The old one kids the lad:
‘Look, missus - God’s gift to women!
Look at them muscles.’

She bustles away the dust from her cold rooms,
Collects hairs from one old cat.
But now there are coloured wire bits
And pieces of brick
And dried patterned mud
From army boots on the attic stairs.
(She is aware how much more therefore
There must be in the hall.)

The man says:
‘You’d a right comedian on this roof before us.’
He tells the lad to nip across the road for 20 fags.
The lady smiles,
Gets out three mugs,
Counts out four more tea bags.

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