Last of the Crooners
¶ 1
Leave a comment on verse 1 0
A tour of east coast marine
towns and villages,
flat Lincolnshire fields
and The Wash yields
easily-reached-for names:
Mariners, Pilgrims, odd
ways round to Southwold,
grammatically shot to bits
by Ipswich, destroyed
verbally by the Thames Estuary
before Southend and Canvey
for Shrimpers and Gulls,
an unlikely journey
for the last of the crooners
from singing on the pitch
to Eastlands castigation
to holding hands for penalties.
‘Shall we stand together
in the middle? It’s so far out
of our hands now’ said Gareth;
‘we’re exactly the same
so when one of us wins
we won’t get carried away
if we stand first as friends.’
Comments
0 Comments on the whole Poem
Create an account to leave a comment on the whole Poem
0 Comments on verse 1
Create an account to leave a comment on verse 1