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Image for the poem It’s not where you’re from, it’s where you’re at

It’s not where you’re from, it’s where you’re at

   
We drive through flats  
that are more grime  
than home  
   
it’s where we’re at—  
   
at the supermarket    
where yellow stickers    
dishonour good food  
in a way it doesn’t deserve.  
   
There were two food banks  
on the way  
   
but it’s exactly  
where we’re at    
   
filling a trolley to a tenth    
of its capacity until    
a stomach reminds  
a human how little    
the body needs    
to survive  
.  
.  
.  
   
I struck gold today.  
   
Mussels in a black net bag  
reduced to clear  
   
and we drive past those food banks  
on the way back to the house  
in this town that holds no glamour,  
closed shutter-doors slick  
with Thatcher’s stench  
   
.  
.  
.  
   
I’m slowly teaching myself    
the blessing  
of place  
   
the unexpected  
enough  
   
like that time    
we steamed mussels  
on a Saturday, and ate  
like humble kings.
Written by Northern_Soul
Published
Author's Note
Title refers to a passing quote by Ian Brown of The Stone Roses.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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