Summer holidays on the estate,
Playing in the parks from morning until late.
We all went to the same schools,
So it was rare to see a face that was strange —
And when a so-called stranger came,
They’d quickly get an invite to the game.

Young and innocent, all we cared about
Was your name and your age.
“Are you good at football? What position do you play?”
“Let’s have a race — loser’s in goal for the day.”
The juxtaposition:
Of living free, playing football in a cage.

Now it’s a shame —
I can never return to show my kids where I used to play.
They call it gentrification,
But they wiped our memories off the Earth’s face.
Friends had to move far away —
People I used to speak to every day.

Now they look familiar,
But I can’t quite place the face.
Best friends reduced to:
“What’s your name, mate?”