People Poems are dedicated to people who, for one reason or another, have distinguished themselves in my life. The first poem, People Poem 1, is dedicated to Meg Sorick who is the very first person, ever, in history, to purchase one of my books, Sun and Moon, online from Amazon. To be Welsh on Sunday pays tribute to Meg’s adventures with Michelada, among other things! Congratulations, Meg! Many thanks, and I do hope you enjoy your new book. Meanwhile, please accept this poem and this bouquet of e-flowers as my tribute and acknowledgement of my debt to you.
To be Welsh on Sunday
(This poem should be read out loud, fast, and in a single breath!)
To be Welsh on Sunday in a dry area of Wales is to wish,
for the only time in your life, that you were English and civilized,
and that you had a car or a bike and could drive
or pedal to your heart’s desire, the county next door,
wet on Sundays, where the pubs never shut
and the bar is a paradise of elbows in your ribs
and the dark liquids flow, not warm, not cold, just right,
and family and friends are there beside you
shoulder to shoulder, with the old ones sitting
indoors by the fire in winter or outdoors in summer,
at a picnic table under the trees
or beneath an umbrella that says Seven Up and Pepsi
(though nobody drinks them) and the umbrella is a sunshade
on an evening like this when the sun is still high
and the children tumble on the grass playing
soccer and cricket and it’s “Watch your beer, Da!”
as the gymnasts vault over the family dog till it hides
beneath the table and snores and twitches until “Time,
Gentlemen, please!” and the nightmare is upon us
as the old school bell, ship’s bell, rings out its brass warning
and people leave the Travellers’ Rest, the Ffynnon Wen,
The Ty Coch, The Antelope, The Butcher’s, The Rhiwbina Deri,
The White Rose, The Con Club, the Plough and Harrow,
The Flora, The Woodville, The Pant Mawr, The Cow and Snuffers
— God Bless them all, I knew them in my prime.
rogermoorepoet 