Boxers, gamblers and scrap-metal moguls
Muscle in from the black-tie clan
Of Bethnal Green's lugubrious gangsters -
In-laws, outlaws, 'Jack the Hat' McVitie -
And overwhelm, back-slapping.
September, so they're centre-stage
To tell eye-popping stories.
Scenery-chewing gypsies
Crack wood-nuts with their teeth -
Race red-hot tractors till they overturn,
Draw knives when they're demoted in the field.
Surviving children roam in expeditions,
Bingeing on brambles, cornering
The occasional pheasant.
Lively-minded students charm
Avuncular farm-regulars -
Who mock with warm guffaws
The world-improvers
In clouds of airborne powdered hops,
Intoxicating summer air.
Frenzied tractors bounce and roar
Flat out. At tea-break - sunburn, banter,
And Old Man Henley
Stately walks his kingdom.
Air of a fable; who'll
Bring him the golden hop-bine?
After the hops,
We bring October apples;
First shock of autumn cold.
Caravans and children
are dragged resisting from the rainy fields.
One year to wait, in exile.
