The train pulls up in the town of my birth,
third time for me within the last ten years,
it doesn’t feel like home to tell the truth,

it never felt like home when I lived there,
though still, I lift my three month baby girl
to the window, tell her that this is where

Betjeman petitioned bombs to fall,
though I am glad the shithole still remains
a bolshy, concrete anti-pastoral

fading within a bombardment of rain.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Aug 05, 2012 @ 23:28:39

    Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
    To get it ready for the plough.
    The cabbages are coming now;
    The earth exhales.

    When you are an even more famous poet than you are now, the town council will probably invite you back to make you a freeman of the town and you will have to say that the place holds fond memories for you.


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