I visit a row of workers' houses
rebuilt on a museum's face,
repackaged and brought here
these six buildings
disorientated from their original
space where mining families
existed, struggled with iron
and coal, to survive or fail
the tests of cholera
the breath of depression
across the weight of years;
sunshine and rain visiting gardens,
the pigsties and pigeon lofts
now divorced from their context
an estate the landlord gladly sold
the sour earth beaten
with the bruised hardships
each neighbour shared
in the expired
broken light within
the torn roots of every room.

© Byron Beynon - 2004