Edd Ferrari

 

 

True Grit
for Barbara Hodgson

This morning ‘Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini’
jangles out the radio and you remember holidays at Tintagel—
on edge, on the edge in caravan with mam and dad and nan,
come down from up North to grin and bear grim hols.
You remember the endless games of monopoly you play to lose,
as the endless waves come clopping into the rocks below
as the cloud of your mam’s perfume starts to diffuse
and the 1960s swells up through th’transistor radio—
Afraid to come out in the open; out at sea,
comes ‘Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini,’
At broadcast the lights of Ireland stop and start—
and I imagine you staring up into th’fragile dark,
mouthing along before bed, praying for the years to pass
as, elsewhere, th’third pint washes its tidemark up the glass.

 

 

After a visit from Wes Magee at primary school Edd Ferrari decided to write poetry. Having done this in Krakow and Lodz, Poland he’s now moving on to Redlands in Southern California. Close-readings of Northern poems @therepublicofyorkshire.blogspot.co.uk and tweets @ermferrari.

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