The Shipley Song of Non-Summer

Autumn is on its way
Wearing big bastard boots,
The better to trample over
Any memories of summer.

Aye, summer - those three days
In May when the sun shone.
The shorts went on. The moobs came out.
But now my autumn's done come.

A season of mists and
Mellow fruit pie fillings.
(Raffle prize: tin of Pickering's)
The orchard nights are drawing in.

"The Shipley Sausage Fiend"
Gives the padre a shock,
Who gets to greet the well-seasoned meat
That's pounding through his letterbox.

Men can lose their minds when
The seasons lose their shape.
You forget who... I forget why...
A scratched record... glitch in the tape...

B.R. 22/06/2012

Rainbow over Wycliffe Gardens, Shipley

N.B. This is the last in a series of poems I'm calling The Shipley Trilogy, following on from "Too Many Freaks" and "Lawks". It might appear to some readers that I'm not entirely enthused about Shipley. I think I have a complex relationship with the town in which I live but then don't most people? It is an extraordinary place, quite unlike anywhere else I've ever been. All of human life is here! I am indeed fortunate to live in such a beautiful part of the world. When all is said and done it is my home and I love it, and I say that without even a modicum of flippancy or post-irony. So there! B.R.