I don’t remember the groceries
we bought in that supermarket
crammed in elder York but certainly
they must have sufficed for a few
days and definitely for dinner
that night, but I would have starved
for more lightless hours to walk
upon the Roman walls or within
the minster, and stalk in the ghost
steps of once-king Bloodaxe.
But the city was not our destination,
so a quick raid, several plastic
sacks our only hoard.
Under fluorescence, and cooled
by refrigeration,
I would have to raise the Danes, Angles
with the clinkers of tomes
and timbers of stout imagination.