Glasgow Fair
would bring them,
licking ice cream 
from fingers,
bucket and spade
in one hand,
Tennants in the other.

Chip shops and cafes
would heave
and spill them 
on to the High Street
smelling of
good cheer
and vinegar.

Their ghosts
still browse
behind
boarded windows
and haunt
the arcades
with the desperate.

Once paved 
with gold
the empty streets
now scatter
homeless
and needles 
at our feet.

I love it
still.
This town
is in my DNA.
In my heart
she still
sparkles
and welcomes
me home.