Tuesday, January 6, 2009

City girl, country girl

Tell me tales of wild-hearted children
Dickon, the boy who speaks to birds
Rescues orphaned baby lambs
Little Heidi, homesick for her mountain
And I’ll tell you about a girl
Who kissed flowers, frogs
Spent summers among the trees and lily pads
And was dragged crying
Each September back to the city
Where now, all grown up, she refuses to leave

She waits, impatient for a summer
That smells of liquor and car exhaust
Not sap and raspberry bushes.


Dorkmaster Flek said...

That's what we call irony, kids. :) Still kinda sad though.

Urban Folk said...

Oh, after nine years in Bradford plus one for good measure, I understand this dichotomy fully. You've got a great grasp of the poetic voice; I continue to be impressed.