A Name Loosely Attached

In the street where I lived as a child
  The occupants of houses next to the gas lamps
Lent them their names. So we’d meet
  In the yellow circle of Leatherheads’,
Or race downhill to Stevensons’, sometimes make off
  For Bowerses’. The fourth, higher, near the top
Was alien country, nameless. Those who gave
  Their names were remembered when they’d
Flitted by conservative-minded boys; otherwise,
  Apart from forays when we outshouted
Convenience, or mester was on shift work,
  They kept indoors, in the back, mindless
Of their fame, small fortune. “Come on. See you
  At Leathoes’,” we said. “At Stevoes’.” And we did.

          *       *       *       *

They had their moment, these folk, unearned
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