Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

Davy’s of Dover


Tottering on the stub and clack,

my Mum, replete in navy slacks,

ushers us to Davy’s van

to buy us fish and chips.


The salt and fat and ketchup packs

The chips and scraps; the batter cracks.

There’s pickled eggs in acid vats.

They’ll never pass my lips!


We feast on grease and haddock that’s

a thruppence ha’penny heart attack.

Every summer coming back

To Davy’s Van-On-Sea.


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This entry was posted on February 9, 2018 by in Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , , , .
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