The Food Shop
How trite the favour seemed when first I came
To York, conveyed by parents both.
For the car I do my luggage blame;
To help unpack seemed but th’parental oath.
And finally a trip to Morrisons
For food and drink that I might last the week
All part of Mother’s duty to her sons;
And anyhow, my loans were ay their peak.
But two years later how I sob and cry
In gratitude when Mum sends twenty quid
To keep me fed that I might not yet die:
Hungry, I scrounge like those before me did,
And gaze in envy at those Freshers’ bags
As though with gold, not bread, the plastic sags.
I love to hear the lecturer’s dulcet tones
Wash o’er the room with knowledge pure and true,
For learning’s passion warms my chilly bones
And by my hand from air to page pass through.
What better way to set in record speech
Than by that art which comes most naturally?
How else are we to future ages teach
Than with these timeless symbols’ majesty?
But still on all four sides I hear the clack
Of many keys slapped harshly with great haste;
The studious scratching of my pen forces back
By cracks and screens by finger-grease debased.
For while to type may seem all fine and faster
.docx’s obsolescence will spell disaster