‘What would life be/ Without your modesty?’ Photograph by Irini Picolou
Even on the dreariest of days
You manage to stretch the lips on my face
As my childhood grins back
Even when it is cold and black.
Dearest Perivale.
How do you remain so calm
When gangs do you harm?
Their bikes scarring your streets
Which cry wrappers and sweets.
Dearest Perivale.
Thank you for the dustmen’s morning tune
And for the grey cat who comes out at noon,
Snuggling under our car,
Gazing at the evening star.
You shall never be Dearest Perivale
Without the alley’s dishevelled orange wall,
Or the blonde boy bouncing his yellow ball,
Or Old Jack with his grubby dog,
Or the mistiness of the January fog.
Dearest Perivale.
You never fail to startle me with your bright sound
Of the train in the overground,
While the hedgehog nearby doesn’t flinch,
As the stubborn trees never move an inch.
Dearest Perivale.
What would life be
Without your modesty?
Now you can see
What makes my childhood grin back
Even when it is cold and black.
Perivale is my home.