Parish Councillor (after Betjeman)

I am a Parish Councillor; no job’s too small for me

From facilitating Bonfire Night to lighting up the tree

In every avenue and byway of our village small and neat

You’ll find me surveying the highway and examining the street.

Who’s that? people say as I stride along the lanes

Frowning, nodding, peering down to investigate the drains

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Albert got his big truck stuck

on top of the hump-back bridge.

The cop-on-a-bike come by

and he give him a ticket.

The old man who leans on the wall

and smukes his pipe all day

said what wus wrong

well the truck ‘us too long

and the bridge ‘us too steep.

Potter Heigham Bridge had a hump;

‘at was as humped as a cow’s rump

and though there wus a sign

‘at wus...

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breathing in the dusk

bonfire permeates failing light
on this humid August night
midges cloud the air in flight
amassing as they dance and bite

the ghostly moon yet to rise
haunts the pale indigo skies
a rook upon a wire cries
failing breath as summer dies

heavy mist on stubbled corn
scarecrow’s jacket ripped and torn
path to orchard frayed and worn
twilight bleeds across the law...

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