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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.