The Cafe.

Just round the corner
In Hill Street, Hackney
Was Frank’s and Ada’s
A typical working mans café.

All of us were not called
By our names – but by our trades
Brickey, Chipey, Spread and Plum
We all piled in, as one.

Sparks and Fitter, often came
To sup from the “Greasy Spoon”
High backed wooden pews
Marked that well used saloon.

“Usual” Frank would ask?
Yes but, add a buttered slice
I might say, it’s going to be
A long hard day.

Ada was a good cook
She would make my
Eggs bacon, tomatoes and fried slice
Beans or spaghetti to perfection in a trice.

Her dinners were mostly stodge
Stews, Sausage toad, or sausage mash
Always with peas
We sometimes called, Ada’s trash.

The area slowly became Gentrified
Frank and Ada sold up
The café turned into a jewellers
All the builder banter dried.

In days, steel was at the windows and door
Gone were the pews and kitchen
Gone in which Frank and she toiled so hard
That nice café to be no more.


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