My city

I used to recognize this place.
I knew its size, its colour, face;
I knew the way the traffic blew:
The buses, cars and cycles too.

It was a place that lay, quite flat,
So cyclists in abundance went
Their to's and fro's, forwards and back,
In factories and docks descent

In teaming hundreds; sometimes more
Would cycle to their factory floor.
Blue collars in abundance then;
Now there are fewer working men.

On Hessle Road wives once would wait
Their men's return, their trawlers' fate;
But those for whom fish filled their dreams,
Are cast adrift in planners' schemes.

They ripped the heart from docks, and more,
They tore up many a factory floor.
Now concrete towers and malls abound,
Groceries traded out of town -
In supermarkets!

The working docks are now filled in
Providing parks and pretty places.
One's a marina full of boats,
The leisure of the one who gloats

At what his soft-earned riches bought;
While for the many work is sought
In vain and mean, demeaning dole.
This was my town; they took its soul!