A poem a day: Thursday 7th January 2016: Afternoon carrot cake

One from the notebook for today’s prompt – a day turned upside down.  Written one way then falling backwards, grasping onto words to make some sense of it.


Rochdale field notes notebook


Thursday 7th January 2016: Afternoon carrot cake

Afternoon carrot cake, over sweet,

not enough cinnamon for the twin sets and pearls.

Served with a turd of off-white squirty cream,

over-churned and oily. The de rigueur tea break,

complete with the snap from a Lotus Biscoff.

At the canteen: a pot of tea, tiny metal jug –

pool of milk in a saucer, the tidying, the clearance after the flood.


Cheap grand piano with plastic candlestick – the Rochdale Liberace –

can’t be sold to investors, tourists, shoppers.

The mood is all wrong – you can’t sell rain.

There’s nothing photogenic about this weather;

no tourist, nor town planner, would want it

as photographic backdrop. That moribund meteorology.

The day is muted, all greys, green, dun red,


after those brown floods,

I wonder how changed the Dale will be.

Between Leeds and Bradford Interchange,

that ‘nothing’ smell on the Northern train.

Vowels and consonants, a lexical oscillation,

the constant noise of words jostling

when translating signs. Waiting. The rainspotted windows.


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