Tag Archives: poetry about Bootle

Car Boot Sold.

The empty buildings that surround the concrete, hole encrusted

patch of ground, reflect thought of just how poor

the area has become.

The first great depression of the twenty-first century

claims all in this northern town by the Mersey

and the Sunday car boot sale, a few stalls and a van with steaming

piles of bacon, has become the highlight of the week for many.

 

It is the chance to meet up and sell the remains of a home,

a fractured mess in which no-one talks of