barbara, we're not academics on this list, we're all poets of different
kinds! Why did you ask that question apropos this particular poem?
SallyE
>> Before The Last Bus For Alston
>>
>> After watching the shoving we heard the first punch.
>> Then his hood came down, the beard came off,
>> and his red coat ripped when one, a Tyneside Roman,
>> grabbed him, head-butted him twice. Then he slumped,
>> just lay there as the kicking began. It was Auden.
>> *Nowt changes for ye, does it? Now be telled.*
>> Then his sack was up-ended and they crouched down,
>> shook then pocketed some parcels, swapped others,
>> but the large one wouldn’t fit under anyone’s coat.
>> Laughter, until the smallest, dressed as Franco, looked up
>> and, grinning, came over to me. *Take it,* he hissed.
>> It was thick gold paper with a red ribbon, and heavy.
>> He waits. I smell his beer. The bus doors swish open.
>> I don’t refuse. How can I. It’s Christmas.
>>
>> Bob Cooper
>>
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