The Watch

In our Welsh mining village
nobody undermined authority.
We had a knowing respect for
We knew each others' business.

We endured the soot-grimed sweep
shouldering helicoptered brushes and
the enquiries of our cold faced
road sweeper, blue-dungareed.

Peals of laughter whirled in the wake
of the over familiar bus conductor as
his vehicle groaned under the
stress and strain of straphangers.

Shopfronted shopkeepers stood
spying stilled council workers
shovel leaning, alert to
passing distractions and remembering
the long ago lessons of
our droning schoolmaster;
Discipline, Order, Obedience.

Postmaster accountable to everyone;
everyone accountable to him.
Wrongs righted by ministers
in Sunday night sermons,
black garbed pensioners like crows
fixed eyes on us on other days,
selecting names for memory banks.

The village community our police,
the village bobby our superintendent,
a strong force of oppression,
Our own neighbourhood watch.