Mary Smith - Author, Poet and Journalist


Thousands pass here every day

don’t notice this hidden place,
its crumbling, graffiti-ed walls,
windows boarded, bricked up
remaining panes jagged scars,

rubbish rots, damp moss tendrils
creep over cracked concrete,
underfoot, broken bottles crunch, 
left by Tommy G, Josh, Jade and

others, who come to drink,
have a laugh, a piss, a shag,
paint their names on the bricks
remind themselves they exist. 

don’t notice new greenery
seed itself, in city-soil-filled cracks
buddleia bushes thrive
to bring butterflies in summer.

‘Thousands pass here every day’ was commissioned in 2006 for Hidden City, a poetry project organised by Rachel Jury of ConFAB. Poets were asked to write about a part of Glasgow, just off Buchanan Street, not usually noticed.  



Mary Smith

   previous poem

next poem