I hear the thunder of the 12:27 London train
approaching Colchester station 1958,
I think of Brussel sprouts.
I hear Billy Cotton in my mind
shouting,” Wakey Wakey”
and I think of Brussel sprouts.
Old men coughing and mumbling
in the Rose and Crown at lunchtime,
I think of Brussel sprouts.
Alan Breeze singing,
“Bangers and mash”
and the smell of burnt gravy,
I think of Brussel sprouts.
Sadly, I don’t like Brussel sprouts anymore.