Northern English Love Story by Mark Robinson
Startforth. Copley. Rushyford.
Ogle. Snitter. Seaton.
Hett. Consett. Hetton-le-Hole.
Cockfield. Felling. Wingate.
Hart. Newfield. Sacriston.
Broom. Tantobie. Sunniside.
Rowley. Morpeth. Pity Me.
Stobswood. Ulgham. Tudboe.
Newbiggin. Ingoe. High Spen.
Esh. Greatham. Bedlington.
Pontop. Dipton. Satley.
New Brancepeth. New Ridley. New Hart!
“The important thing is to adapt your dish of spaghetti to the circumstances of your state of mind”
– Guiseppe Marotta
In the parallel universe where wizened Corsicans
rave over suet dumplings and rapturously murmur
improvised sonnets in praise of stotty,
barm cake, bloomer, cob, scone (to rhyme with gone)
no one would criticize me for never mentioning
the real grievance at the heart of this poem.
I’d be lauded for the tightness of my lip,
for the way you feel my teeth grit and grind,
for how I shrug off questions with a joke
about the endless spouting of emotion
I waded through to get here.
I think of this as the glaze of a first pressing
spreads its lucent green over the frying pan,
ready to spit at the suggestion of an onion.
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2000-2001 R. Archambeau
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