At Can Petit
From Finders Keepers
I straddle through
New Islington to Hood Street,
Can Petit.
Over a century ago, the scuttlers
would have had me for meat.
I’m not in the mood
for the legendary oxtail sandwich.
I order a bottle of Estrella instead,
reflecting that not long ago
this was quite a wasteland.
Now, I observe new neighbours.
They look, act, and talk
so pleasantly different.
Deep in thought,
two huge — noisy trucks appear,
struggling to navigate
these narrow streets —
delivering to the Hallé Orchestra
for a concert tonight?
A final sip of this cold beer.
I hand my bottle to the barmaid,
nod goodbye, and
walk through new Ancoats,
along the marina,
a community on the verge
of rewriting its own skin.
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