I walk to where the slipway lay and see a boat sliding into the Tyne.
Look at each house breathing into the yards;
see camel backed coats clinging to doors,
kitchens warm as coal fires allow. Smell damp jackets
struggling into each other in the corner of bedrooms.
Go to the corner shop where a man orders ten tabs that glow
out of the street as the half-past seven-yard buzzer groans;
losing ‘a quarter’, if you are late. Bikes rush by and rain skims the air.
A Riveter bawls at his mate; Tank Cleaners cough past;
Electricians quietly walk by without a word.
The Timekeeper waits to catch the late-comers,
before crouching over columns of figures.
This world has gone and those left tell their tales in quiet bars
in the middle of afternoons to barmen who have heard it all before,
know the stories off by heart: the shipyards have gone.

Tom Kelly is a north-east of England short story writer, poet, lyricist and playwright. He has published nine poetry collections, his latest being Spelk (Red Squirrel Press, 2016) and This Small Patch (Red Squirrel Press, 2020).
Poetry submissions to thursdaypoems@gmail.com.