I’ve come to phrases with it now: my half-intended lapse
right into a realm of virtually sinister magnificence: a spectrum
of diktats and automotive insurance coverage quotes, bizarre tweets
and watercolour ideas. We name it England, this pig
which splutters at our toes, whom we’re obliged
to flatter and caress. “No I’m afraid
the 700 isn’t working right now. On the display, sir. Faucet it on the display.”
Nonetheless there’s poetry
in grime, naked druids
in these hills, actual ale and winding regicidal streams
squat unwholesome bushes bent witchy by the wind, serrated rain
and condoms by the swings.
And that’s simply Sussex! (Or is it
Kent?) Your card has been declined.
“No right here sir. It’s a must to faucet it right here.”
An indication within the jewellers’ screams
EVERYTHING MUST GO
and it reads
extra like a blessing.
Joshua Blackman is a poet from Bognor Regis. His work has appeared within the “Rialto”, “Poetry Evaluate”, the “London Journal” and varied different publications.
[See also: Help Yourself]