Sweet Mother

Sweet mother of the scarred and blistered pavements
mother of the litterbins and lamp-posts
of the cinder kicked all the way to school
mother of the weeping tar and grit
of the fag-ends and discarded
and the trampled blossoms
of the seven weeds that sprout through kerbstones
of the chuckle of water far below the grating
of the man up to his waist in layers of history
of his red and white striped barriers
of his lanterns and his brazier
sweet mother of the long and battered pavements
sweet mother of the shopping bags and bandages
entreat for us now and at the hour of our death.