The Manchester Review
Peter Sansom
Four Poems
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Day-in day-out without natural light the winter
they rationed butter and eggs (strikes;
the three day week) – for peanuts but even so,
despite the aisle on aisle of facing tins and jars
and the late hours in the warehouse, it was just
the best of times. One night we climbed
the stacked cases me and my best mate to sit
above the shift with cans of continental lager
high among the iron rafters. There was a party
at a girl’s and Lindisfarne’s Nicely Out Of Tune
to take to it – and though years later they pumped
my stomach because of her, what matters is
nobody missed us or happened to look up
between clocking-in and our stint last thing
horsing with the cardboard bailer. Canada,
he lives now, and I of course live here,
though in many ways we’re still up there. Cheers.