This poem is taken from Stand 230, 19(2) June - July 2021.

Iain Twiddy Shibboleths I
Kirkby, the k crumbling away like the church,
Anwick, unlit, flash-point of chicken smash-ups,
Ewerby, slight island, pointing seaward,
neither wrapped in woolly wind, nor holding water,

and most of all, Aslackby, anchor far south,
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