Mad as a hatter & cap lands
Where even right beside the sea
You cannot see the sea
Not because the view is obscured
By man or even by
Those rectangular caravansWhich go on for miles and miles
Years of infinitesimal lifetimes
Time enough to put up fences, gates, verandas
Time enough for dad’s tears, granddads tears
Mum’s tears, great grandchildren’s tears
Yet without undulation there is no vista
Of the everlasting ocean
Over which your sister promised to sail
To sail and set you free
With promise
She sailed to set you free from religion
Churches; three within spitting distance
One on every corner of the ever winding roadA Methodist chapel tacked on in full view
To capture the late or lonely stragglers
Back then many more, many more workers
People of the people, workers of the day
Dayworkers who worked of the evening
Believing that on Sunday they could rest
To play far away from the shadow
Of the crooked, crooked steeple
The pamphlet Embroidered Cadillac from which this poem is taken is available at the itunes store for only 99 pence, click here to be connected