I don’t live in Leeds, I die there, slowly
Banished there by my peers, or shall I just
be kind and call it my fate. Leeds left deep
scars in my psyche when their team beat mine in
the FA Cup: (Leeds 3, Crystal Palace 1).
Then, when a girl from Leeds joined my school
I learned what bluntness meant; it stayed with me.
My energies drain now in its suburbs.
At night I dream of the Kingdom of Elmet,
the forest of Loidis, sheep producing
white woollen cloth, flaxen fields of yellow-grey.
Finishing mills, giving way to foundries,
iron and industry incarnating to
Leeds and its locals; Loiners, blunt of speech,
hard of eye. My southern softness seems so
out of sync so I walk by the Aire,
look to the Atlantic, escape to the
Pennines, my heart just longing for Wales.