The Wrong Side Of The Water

Home is bangers and mash with a ketchup squirt,

Or brushing the sausage roll crumbs off of your shirt.

It is the scent of the firework that fifth night in November,

And the waft of smoked bacon cooked upon glowing embers.

Home is a cacophony of voices, speaking in the round.

Or rhythmic dance beats with that new vocal sound.

Black Puddin’ for breakfast and hot custard for afters.

The real home of language and a place full of laughter.

It is, the richest tapestry of accents fighting to be heard.

And songs from the terraces, sung together word for word.

Home is the smell in the air just before the big rainfall slips.

Or, that malt vinegar aroma steaming off chunky chips

It’s the land of the double decker bus and black Hackney taxi.

Also, the police don’t have guns but can still play quite roughly.

It is a hot buttered crumpet alongside a cup of tea.

And eating fish and chips out of paper in the rain by the sea.

It is the land of the lion but they only live in the zoo.

The home of King Arthur but he is long gone too.

My home is an island and I am on the wrong side of the water.

I look from a distance but I just feel like her stalker.

A short drive and a ferry or a train under the sea,

it used to take half a day and was so simple for me.

It is now being two long years since I set foot over there.

My passage is now blocked by papers and a vaccines affair.

My next trip home might mean two weeks in quarantine.

A strange hotel stay served by gaolers in governmental green.

An unwelcome home, no bienvenue, my invites retracted.

The drawbridge is up, the guard is out and has overreacted.

I wonder if like me, while apart home has changed

Will it recognise me or will we both feel estranged?

What if home has gone and no longer rests over that sea.

Will I now be lost and left to wander about free.

These thoughts keep me awake and do, oh so trouble me.

I stand at my door but I just can’t find my key.

Anyway, thank you for reading my poem.

I publish my stuff independently for no other reason that I would rather these strange ideas that rattle around my head from time to time have a place to go. Hey, better out than in.

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If not that is also cool.

I have more strange musings here, Enjoy.

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