poet. writer. imposter.
The true story of my first visit to Sheffield. I had come for an interview at Shirecliffe College. Going by the reputation of the course and college, it was my fifth choice. Then I saw that beautiful Brutalist architecture…
Your brothers, tall and handsome,
caught my attention and stole
my breath. Rapt by their dominance
over the skyline, I dreamed of being
wrapped in their aggregate arms.
From the brow of Shirecliffe Top,
looking down into Neepsend valley,
remnants of industry – outlined
in soot and sulphur, girder and rubble –
gave way to your coy angulations. A shapely
anatomy echoing the serpentine Don,
gently mocking its old-fashioned
dressed in the sci-fi future drag
we were promised in ’40s pulp fiction.
I fell for you.