This poem’s called ‘Newtown Boy’. “Sittin’ on the gas box, waiting for me dad. He’s at the pub. Fridays he celebrates and puts on a funny voice. Joy Pithers across the street, she’s in kindergarten too. I’ll bet her dad is home. Never seen him but. Dawn Miller’s father, the funeral man, he’s rich. They’re going to get a television soon as they switch it on from America. First thing will be Mickey Mouse. I’ll be seven then. Joy Pithers kissed me, sittin’ on the gas box but I like Christine Parker ‘cause she’s got long brown hair down to her bottom. When she sits on the scripture mat I make plaits for her and look at her red ribbons”.

“On Fridays dad gets drunk and wobbles his bike down the side but he always brings us fish and scallops, Fruit Tingles, Steamrollers, Choo-Choo bars and Cherry Ripes. I fight my sister for the green Fruit Tingles. Other days, dad puts me on his handlebars – he made a seat for me – and rides me up to the very end of the street across the big road and we watch the trains go past. I wave to the guards and they wave back. Sittin’ on the gas box, I can see into Salmon Park where the Dutch boy who called me a bloody basket threw half a brick and split my head open. I didn’t have to go to hospital but. I shouldn’t have called him ‘dago’. The street light just came on. Now those big flying ants will bump against the globe until they’re fried. Yesterday my tortoise died after Mr Morris run over it in his semi-trailer. Here’s my last green one – I’ve been saving it for a week – fizzing in my mouth, tickling under my tongue. I wish a car would come past. Hey, I can smell fish and scallops. I’m standing on the gas box, waiting. It’s my dad and the old green bike”.