Longlisted Poem 2013
Barnhill Community High School, Hayes, Middlesex
Crevices: To be read in a thick London accent
The boyler’s fired, n it rattles like fuck in the cupboard in me room.
It’s five AM, and it’s preparing for a day o heaytin.
‘Ah can’t sleep under these circumstances’ I think ta meself,
And throw meself out o the bed.
The doar screams as ah fowce my way through onto the landin,
‘It’s far too early!’ It sez, ‘Go back to bed!’,
But ah ignore the cries, and I c’n sense the feelins o desolaytion n dirt.
The allway looks like it might crumble unda the waiyght.
The waws feel mossy, as if the dirt’s turnta wildlife.
Evry crack in the wall looks like a 20 foot Anaconda might suddnly burst frum it,
The gaps in the covin look like the perfect spider’s idaht,
N the floorboawds look like a gorilla cud tear through and rip me feet off at any mowment.
Ah reach the stayrs. Turnin ta compost, they steam n burn me feet.
They scwelch beneath us, burnin, burnin.
‘Fuckin ell’ ah mumble ta meself, as ah quicken me pace dahn the steps,
N reach the flooded allway.
‘Wawter, wawter everywhere, not a drop ta drink’ ah quote, in a smartarsed manna.
But quotin Coleridge won’t help us nah. It’s almost as if the water eard me.
Suddnly it began ta surge up, all the way a me neck, suffocatin,
A watry death awaits me mind, manifestin itself as bodily pain.
Ah reach the cupboard. I pull the andle, n the door falls from the inges.
Mahntains o dirt fall on to us, just yesterday the food packages that lined the kitchin,
Nah turnt to a deathly pulp o blood, mud n faeces.
Ah scraype the residyoo from me face, n continyoo waydin through the chaymber.
Soon a’ter, ah have ta swim. Ah make me move for the stayrs back to me room,
But the wawter is fillin th’passige quickly, n iy ave ta fowce me way to tha surfis.
The upstairs landin’s only alf submerged, n the water appears ter ave stopped risin.
‘That’s fowchunate’ I think ta meself, as I fowce me weight towowds me bedroom doar.
As I open the doar, the water suddenly subsydes, n as I climb inta bed,
I c’n feel the flora n fauna that populated me ahs receding.
It’s returnin to me. The floor in me room sparkles from the damp.
I hope I notice all o this tomorrer night.
‘Cos in the mawning I’ll be splashed by the cleana yet fowla water o the sink,
Bringin me back to reality, n the concrete jungle I inhabit,
Mundane life cycles n a sense o lost purpose agenst the backgrahnd o Lahnd’n,
N once again, I’m a cog.
© Luke Innes
- Date January 21, 2015
- Tags 2013 The Details - Longlisted Poems