Tinned Fruit by David Birtwistle - Lancashire Poetry

Push back the green velvet curtains

Ruffle the lace.

Adjust the Aspidistra.

Dust along the mantelplace

The Staffordshire dog, the wheezing clock,

The picture of Yarmouth, the flying duck.

The Toby Jug ,Grandads sepia photo

Lance corporal Tommy Parkinson D.S.O

East Lancashire Fusiliers

Gassed at Armentieres

Rouse the best China from hibernation

Polish the cutlery into supplication.

Turn the antimacassars. Kick out the cat.

But whos coming to tea after all that?

Is it the Vicar ,the man from the Pru or the Landlord?

Not the Landlord., the rents overdue

Could it be snooty Aunt Doris and pervy Uncle Ben

From 14 Laburnum Gardens. with their swanky Ford Ten.

And its Now come on James give Aunty a kiss.

Ugh ! No thanks Ill give that a miss

But I know its tinned fruit, because its Sunday

Will it be pineapple rings or chunks say

Will it be pears with evaporated milk.

Will it be peaches in syrupy silk

If I close my eyes and pray

It will be FRUIT COCKTAIL, hooray!

Oh boy, oh joy.

It must be tinned fruit

Its Sunday.

David Birtwistle