The People’s Palace. A Cathedral by Muriel Baker
A white wrought iron cathedral
a fantasy in glass and metal lace
housing giant tropical plants.
A palace for the people
from the viewing gallery
they appear as small as ants.
I have remembered dancing
in the city’s ballrooms
and a tale of ‘The Steamie Pram.’
The spires of the city
a ring around the green.
I can see everything –
from where I am.
The hills in the distance
the valley in between,
and Cleopatra’s Needle.
No, it’s Nelson’s on The Green
I can read a building size poster
Saying ‘People Make Glasgow.’
I pay homage to the ‘Single End’
I would swear there was once a dog
and a wee mouse in a trap.
My memory is in a fog.
The roach traps are real enough
These varifocals are the stuff.
I weep over Ken Currie’s paintings
The women’s Suffrage Banners.
Their teapot, cup and saucer.
They were brought up to have good manners.
The banner of the Camlachie Branch
of The Independent Labour Party.
The parish where I was born.
A long way to go from Maryhill
for my mother, on a snowy March morn.
Oh sisters what’s to come?
I remember going ‘Doon The Watter’
This place tells the story of my life.
From ‘The Humblebums’ Banana feet
and the stuff that’s already gone.
What will be your heritage
Now that Socialism’s done?
