I often stare out
me bedroom window: I can see
a gang of lads and lasses: they look small
from up here. They hang about, nothing to do
nowhere to go, cannot kick a ball even
so they sit, wait, smoke, swear, laugh and drink
scaring the bairns, the old folks as they call out.
Mam says they're animals, they're not, nah.
She says it's a jungle, the bushes grow too tall
you might get jumped on by chava's
rapists, smackheads, or what all.
People say it's rough. Nah, its not that bad
I should kna, I live here, in the Byker Wall.

Sometimes
I lie in bed with the curtains open
before the moon rises.
On a clear night yer might see one
travellin ever so slowly
remote and cold
like those mini diamond ear studs in the sky
not stars;
Dad pointed one out to me
once up the coast
we were on a long sandy dune
with only the sound of the surf
and a huge black sky:
You have to be patient, he said
to look, and wait. And
if yer lucky, yer see
a little pin point of light
moving through the stars
in a steady line. And we did.
That's a satellite, he said.
Just imagine it whizzing messages around the world
could be from Australia
or Aberdeen.
A radio wave bounces off the earth, up
into space, hits the satellite dish
it¹s like a bat, bounces the wave back
to another part of the earth.
Just remember that, he said
When your troubles seem too big.

Which surprised me
cos normally all Dad sees in the sky
is pigeons.

Me Granda died six month ago,
it feels like yesterday,
like forever.

Everything fell apart:
Mam got down, Sean got wilder;
Granda was the only one could stop him.
Dad. Well. He's just Dad.
And I felt lost.
Like when things yer rely on,
yer cannot trust them no more.

But Nana, she's been solid
as a wall, stronger than all of us.
I divvent kna what I'd de if she wasn¹t there.

Take Mam.
When it comes to her
I might as well be a switched off moby
or made of glass
or a tv with the sound down;

I might as well be dead.
Sean's all she's bothered about.

Sean's me big brother,
he never sits still, he's never quiet
he's like a tidal wave takin over
yer cannot avoid him
he's everywhere taking up space
getting into trouble.
Never bin to school since he was 12
since Mr Cairns
made him sit in the Removal Unit
all day til 4 o'clock. No Break,
no dinnertime. Just sitting.
Did his head in, so much sitting still.
All because he threw a book
and swore. In the end he broke a chair.
Mam says he didn't mean to.
He couldn't help it. He's hyper.
There's all sorts of words for Sean,
but basically when he's on a radge, he's mental.
I tell you, it drives me mental
when he comes in my room
fiddles with me stuff.
Cack–handed, breaks things
just by pickin them up.

An he's crap at reading an writin,
He's got other skills,
Mam says. Yeah
like twistin her round his little finger
he's mint at that.
He'd win prizes the way he acts sweet
and she'd be first to hand em out.

But me?
If I get wrong off the teachers
Mam hoys a fit
or if I get a good report
she says. Oh Aye?
like I just said
it's raining.
She's more interested
in Coronation Street
than she is in me,
I'm tellin yer. It's shit.
So. I say nowt.
No point.

She's only bothered about me
going ter school cos
the Welfare Wifey sent a letter;
they said it's her fault
if I don't go.
I divvent see why, like
but it makes me laugh –
she hates getting them
Official Letters.