Mr and Mrs Portsmouth
are kirtled by the sea
proud of their ironclad
links to Nelson and Victory,
Looking down on their sister,
Gosport.
Dismissive of the Scummers.
Mr and Mrs Portsmouth
wear boulevards of trees
on posh Southsea streets,
speak of the laughing clown
long gone on the pier;
of Tommy and when
that same pier burned down.
The a in bath and laugh
they elongate
but eat school dinners
paid for by the state,
yes, Mr and Mrs Portsmouth
hold their heads up high
as they skirt the dirt
and swim in pungent seas,
while pebbles dotted with sea cabbage
serve as sand.
Mr and Mrs Portsmouth don’t squinny
never see their town as a right skank,
there’s no point getting lairy,
they can see the bobbing yachts,
and the forts of Lord Palmerston,
the point where sea meets horizon
by the Isle of Wight.
All is well
with Mr and Mrs Portsmouth.
Photography by Moshe Tasky.
