Englishmen are branded upon
their tongue
– by a lisp some
are tortured – stutterers sing

staccato – every intonation is
our mark – we drag our birth
by sounds – a soft certificate

of accent betrays each place
among others – where we all
rise from is on our raw tip – I

speak chameleon – my voice
will find an equalling tone as
beers are sunk – I hear drunk

& speak with shifts to ease in
to circumstances – as if it is a
compliment to a latest host –

but I do not like my tones – a
slip into lazy estuary is now
& then my dumb party piece