Tinned Fruit by David Birtwistle - Lancashire Poetry
PUBLISHED: 14:03 20 January 2010 | UPDATED: 16:30 20 February 2013
A poem by David Birtwistle
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