Congratulations! £50 will be on the way to him shortly.
Please see his poem below:
SEASONAL PRODUCE
Fruit and Veg is a graveyard
of barren totes - two weeks
and the pillow of snow has smothered
the breath from the earth.
Grocery shopping with my mother
has become a matter of preservation.
The tins make her nostalgic,
she remembers the cuboid of corned beef
being carved at the table like a brisket.
We'll look at it as broadening our palates,
savour the trip of the tongue
over the strange new adjectives - creamed
mushrooms and marrow-fat processed
peas. Our fruit bowl won't be glut
with apples and satsumas, we'll have
the peach segments' aluminium tinge,
the alien shapes of lychees and guava halves.
The frozen aisle has a fairer offering -
a scattering of broccoli, Black-forest berries,
but my mother insists there's no space
in the freezer. I wonder
if we couldn't keep them in the garden.
Maybe we'd lose them in the snow-drift
until the sky thawed and the first shoots
of spring were unkernelling.
Fruit and Veg is a graveyard
of barren totes - two weeks
and the pillow of snow has smothered
the breath from the earth.
Grocery shopping with my mother
has become a matter of preservation.
The tins make her nostalgic,
she remembers the cuboid of corned beef
being carved at the table like a brisket.
We'll look at it as broadening our palates,
savour the trip of the tongue
over the strange new adjectives - creamed
mushrooms and marrow-fat processed
peas. Our fruit bowl won't be glut
with apples and satsumas, we'll have
the peach segments' aluminium tinge,
the alien shapes of lychees and guava halves.
The frozen aisle has a fairer offering -
a scattering of broccoli, Black-forest berries,
but my mother insists there's no space
in the freezer. I wonder
if we couldn't keep them in the garden.
Maybe we'd lose them in the snow-drift
until the sky thawed and the first shoots
of spring were unkernelling.
Hugh Metcalf
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