Heslington East

A poem by

Kate Mitchell

Kate Mitchell

You’ll see no swans nor coots or geese
When you’re over in Heslington East
Just strange fellows reveling in antiquated garments
Searching for the Theatre, Film and Television Department
Or grizzly men with looks of sturdy defiance
Studying things like Computer Science.
Where the fuck even is Constantine –
Will they ever install a cash machine?
And not even one solitary cloud,
Demure, descends upon Live and Loud.
The omega call of the careful cherub
Will collapse the walls of the Ron Cooke Hub.
No: I’ll find your long sought-after shadow
Among these imitation meadows.
There’s someone lurking, lissome, lithe,
Through the languidness of shit Langwith –
My life experience’s ultimate peak
Grazes the grounds of gaudy Goodricke.
Let me believe it: let me be proud
Of “bars” as dead as The Glasshouse.
I’ll find you standing humbly by
The glint of the lake reflected in your eye.
I’ll stride with you among this plaintive plain –
Gliding gently among Kimberlow Lane.
No: You’re just another awkward reverie
From starvation by insufficient facilities.
Oh Heslington East! Oh Heslington East!
All you’ve given is paltry peace.

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