Sunday Best

As our Mam made the Sunday roast
last orders rang their call
With tea towel in hand as Colin Bell scored
she was all in and out of the hall
Thumbing through the Sunday Mail
with her readers on reading her stars
Neither health nor wealth guaranteed for sure
false hope sent down from afar
Train rides and crying eyes
and posters off the wall
Those walls hold a thousand stories
and we remember them all
With darts in top pocket our Dad was off home
to taste her days delight
and just like before he came through that door
the drink said his mood was alright
a nod and a wink as she stood by the sink
as the Regal cleared congested chest
She’d say this joint o’ meat’s the best on the street
And I’ve washed and pressed your Sunday best

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©JB Barrington

About JB Barrington

The words & verse of JB Barrington; performance poet from Salford. Lovely stuff, touches heart strings and the odd raw nerve - Johnny Vegas Great poems; great delivery - Terry Christian A warm charm, a rapier wit and a real appreciation of words - Louder Than War
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