WICKHAMBREUX
I learnt about this England everywhere,
though mostly in a pub in Wickhambreux
I came to manifestly unprepared
For what that England was about to do.
He thought if he avoided saying N-
He could say what he wanted loud and proud.
He had so many other words for “them” –
And me? I sat in silence, weak and cowed.
In Wickhambreux on Sunday afternoon
You could still be as racist as you dared.
You would still hold the balance of the room
You’d meet agreement with the words you shared.
In England in the years before it broke
The Kraken caught the scent, and re-awoke.
DOVER
I could spend all day watching ferries span
The Channel. Once I did. They came and went
In state and grace, a constant caravan
Of halcyon travel, easing out of Kent
Untroubled by the haring hoards below.
At times, you could see four at once, blue miles
Apart, unhurried by the undertow,
Not slightly shaken by the splintering Isles.
When I was young, the ferries seemed so vast
I’d think you’d need to clear the stream en masse
For their advance - consuming beasts who’d cast
Their wake for strays then deal the coup de grace.
I watched them, lately, as they shrunk, all day,
To disappear somewhere round Calais way.
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