Doggerland

When swamped Noah’s Wood
has re-seeded above sea rises
When it has been reinstated
that connection

of Britain – no more a stoic island
able to gorge on separation
and cry out a huge difference
would be fixed

Such an implausible conceit –
with our warming and tipping concerns
seeing fast incursions of salt water –
no reunification is possible

Slumped and washed by a North Sea rush –
yet to return are men and women
hot in our blood – They sleep in silt
We were never an island race

New England

They will soon take command
of the scattered pill boxes –
those red brick squatters
sat above river crossings –

built for strategic purposes –
and to fool the nescient
of a Maginot Line in England –
to withstand our invasion

There will be working parties
to restore the squat outposts –
drinking tea and sipping gin
as the last of Locarno evaporates

The new guard will take to parades
under friendly church hall beams –
taught to guide the landing parties
into concentration camps in Kent –

and you will shift the weight of anger
by reposting others’ indignant shouts
from your padded cell of social media –
which is how all of this begins

Endavant

The same streets which I once took
with Kodachrome and pesetas
are now stolen by cruise line tourists
in digital edits of Catalan fist-fights,
of baton-crash-policing:
Here Spaniard cracks Spaniard
outside padlocked primary schools,
as Generation X rights are suspended,
here blood is the paper’s crossed mark.


[Poem 864]