The impact of airfreight on the poet.

I wrote this last summer for Port Eliot Festival.






The impact of airfreight on the poet.

Once, long ago
it would be enough to say
that we ate strawberries
she and I and you would know
That she was beautiful in her summer frock
eyes the colour of cornflowers
Hair of course
ripe wheat

The summer heat sang
swallows flew low
smell of new mown grass
rosemary
lavender
and a jamjar to trap the wasps in.

Now
thanks to airfreight
if I were to tell you
that we ate strawberries
she and I
you would have no fucking clue
as to the season or our whereabouts

We could be in the Ikea cafe
in December
for all you know
Thanks to airfreight.

This poet will
if longevity allows
scream with joy
on hearing the news
that the last drop of oil
has been sucked
from beneath his summer lawn.

And it will
once again be enough
to say:

We ate strawberries
she and I and you would know.