I was brought up, like many of you, with no official play areas, so we improvised.
The street was our play-park and incursions into neighbours' back yards our thrill.
It was also Northern Ireland in the early sixties
so all that was about to spill onto the same streets
was beginning to emerge.
Rumours
Tumbling over the bars
Backwards-forwards
Sidetricks-scandals
Knickers in the air
Nobody watching
Tennis on the footpath
No nets -no lines
Few rules-just balls
Always landing
in Mrs Quinn's garden
The delight of foraging
through Toner's backyard
Rumours extending
like a ripple from the rear
of adults alerted
And rumours of The Boys
Braving the Tricolour
Shouts of freedom
Heading for Coalisland
Followed by silence.
Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016
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