What You Will See
is Billy breaking out of his breeze block bunker
With a bust of Bloodaxe. You’ll see the concrete
Of his tenement crack to reveal corroded filigree –
Billy collapses in the chill air with a crick in the neck.
You’ll see dockland dredgers crossing dry land.
Yet Norse dialect survives behind sea-defences, floats
In on a gulf-stream with golf balls that were gonged
Out to sea from the eighteenth. You’ll hear garage grooves,
Chip shop gravy-trains, hinterland novels,
Horseplay with hotplates, but smart kids occupy
The Hazienda in the harbour, juxtaposed in the john
Afterwards where Billy kips crashed out.
On the links you’ll see losers drag leaden clubs
To lonely edges, loosen them onto mud below
Where mussel dredgers merge, snag gnarled
Norsemen, nail their bones to the walls of nocturnal
Noggin’-shops. Here you’ll find poets pedalling
Wordplay. Outside the quoin drops to reveal
More of that rusted filigree stuff. A silt-song lilts,
Settles out in the still-soul, the shallow-maker.
Tropical sea traffic softly bottoms bringing visitors
To a vibrant village. They hear weeping by the sea wall;
‘Why Billy? Why take your love away?’. Xenophiles
Survive. Yola survives. Youths yoked against zero survive.