By Roger Cornish
They’ve about emptied ya
out now boy
A thousand bicycles
a robbed safe
hundreds of shopping trolleys
the odd suicide
You flow on
no more factory dye and chemicals
the
Coal’s gone too
and you flow
All the way to London
that’s why they call you ‘Grand’?
Unadulterated your fish grow
Strong
I remember when the one-armed man swam from
bridge to bridge covered
in a pink grease with his odd circular swim like a
whirling dervish
I caught a fish in you once
A roach three inches long
I wondered how he survived
How we all survived
With those hooks
In our mouths
