'They pulled and pulled and pulled
Still the enormous turnip did not move'
Rain, Rugby League, Wigan Pies,
My throat chokes on mud and gristle,
I spit out this bungling accent,
Flatten all my vowels.
I pine for a Constable sky,
And Ipswich shopping centre,
The Singing Postman on Anglia TV,
His ghost now bootiful,
Stalks me back to dry hard roots,
The crust of my creation,
Not this slop and sludge,
Of drizzled days,
Morbid as a menopause.
My thoughts still tunnel South,
Knuckles red and raw,
A row of ripened turnips.
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Liked it a lot. Conveys well the sense of resentment at being stuck in an alien culture and the yearning for the wide open skies of home. Like the economy of style; the fact that there are no words which don't earn their keep. Still puzzled by references to turnips.
ReplyDeleteIf I came from East Anglia would I understand?
Thanks for comments.i was concerned a non east anglian or younger person would not understand the reference to 'singing postman' who was prime time 'look east' tv viewing but perhaps never crossed the northern borders. As for turnips - us suffolk folk were brought up on the wonderful, much neglected veg...
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