content note: mention of funerals
I know it’s a town on a plate, communities divided by salt and sauce, eggs acting as boils on the faces of teenagers. It is neighbours erecting fences of black pudding & anger. Shouting cuss words, hiding each other’s mail, making noise complaints to the pigs. It’s a funeral procession of women with mushrooms for hats. It’s a bald man, head like a baked bean, tomato red, burned and trying to escape the plate. Spilling himself over the edge becoming lost in the carpet & eventually found by the dog.
is a poet who writes about working-class culture and his own upbringing in a southern town. He is currently studying for a PhD on these subjects and lives in Leeds with his daughter Holly and partner Sarah.