Canto CLVII

There’s no escaping from the bloody cold,
forget imminent Spring, three bar heaters,
there ain’t enough pennies to pay the toll

to keep our local fireball’s energy metre
from running down to zero. All you know
of this unfurling universe’s features

is warmth and muffled noise. The coming snow
will coax shivers and cuss words from your Mum,
your kicks provide the hope to get us through

the endless bastard wintertimes to come.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Feb 05, 2012 @ 10:26:06

    For some totally unknown reason this poem made me think of T.S. Eliot.

    “Midwinter spring is its own season
    Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown”

    The endless bastard winters to come.

    Reply

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