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When I lived in a tower block with a newborn.

 




The moon at 3am over Southampton, UK.

Tower Block


The 18 bus trundled down the cobbled Millbrook streets

Cold and wet, begrudgingly going to our home

We tried to stay out; nuisance neighbours kept us awake

Nothing the council could do, just hint at a move for our sake

The cold, thin chipped paint peeled off the railings in the block

The smell of cat food and roast potatoes was always a shock

Anti-social behaviour in the block was rife

Loud pumping music was just a way of life

The lift was out, now to tackle the stairs with a pram

People pushing past you, they don't give a damn

Rubbish bags collected, the postman is due

Not much to hold onto, faith was for the few

Paul is now crying, this is no way to live

Cold and hungry, carpetless and curtainless nothing would give

The woman opposite our flat starts to scream, nothing new

I pull the duvet over my head, this life should be only for the few

The strange sound of drilling always at 6 o'clock

The neighbourhood warden tried to give us a knock

In the midnight garden comes on at the same time

Never one for missing it, Paul smiles at the sign

Hot chocolate in the kitchen being kept wide awake

Pacing the floor thinking of how I could possibly escape.

Environmental health with all his gold rings

Never did anything to atone for his sins

They wrote a note on the system and told us to keep true

No sense of comfort knowing they didn't have a clue

Out all day and night whatever the weather

Never expecting it to even get better

Mental health and noise meant I sprayed crimson up the wall

Looking back now I can see how far I had to fall

Evaluating at the time I asked God if this was my lot

There was only a certain amount of strength I had got

The police, the weed, the noise and the phones

How on earth could anyone call this a home?




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