Lee Stannard
Home for the Games
I have thrown one-arm giants
Around asymmetric bars
And landed pike somersaults
On the edge of crash mats
With no idea of place
Silent clutter fills my head
On the tram back into Manchester. Stop.
Listening to voices, varied tones,
Faces coming to terms with mobiles
Through a -scape of chimney spires. Stop.
From the city of revolution. Stop. That foul drain -
I see the Pennine spine -
Of gloom at the heart of History’s trade
Down channels of uncommon wealth
Now recreational canals and cycle paths
Page(s) 55
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