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Gedney Drove End

Through Swineshead and Sutterton and Gedney
I drove us down the old river-bed road
That was a part of leaving Norfolk: the theory

Of desolation from the road-edge—how the wind
Stripped their senses into dullness, or a test
Of who made who, land or man, and found

Some harsh male pact that drove the sea out,
But fades—a spiritual will-o’-the-wisp
And the misty kids gone crazy with incest

Or sucking poppy seeds: their mothers picking
Stones and weeds, cheeks red-veined early;
All indistinct now from hearsay or reading—

A view of communities on the outside only
That overlooked the canning factory and new
Houses sustained by love and money:

And for me a string of places I went through
To get elsewhere, but still surprised
By this wasteland and all the crops it grew.

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 

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