Ghosts in the paddling pool Cursing where once I played Peeling away my childhood Like flecks of paint From the moaning carousel. Their anger in hock and foam Bleeds through names on glistening chrome ‘Colin is a queer’ ‘Jane is a slag’ ‘Death to all Pakis’ (next to the union jack) written by parents through their children’s hand To show them the way to the promised land. I leave the playground Which left me years ago Replaced by ghosts and no-one I know Who haunt the tenement knoll Buying dreams from gold toothed genies they sell out childhood for a gram of dream is a small price to pay at the shopping mall.