Alec in Wond-Elland (or Through the Crooked Glass)

It’s more than a year

since Alice and I tumbled

headlong down the rabbit hole.

The Red Queen encouraged

the executioner’s act,

but no head was cut off.

 

Drink Me was not an option,

as the elixir fed

through Alice’s veins,

as it still does,

every three weeks

as regular as the clockwork

in the Mad Hatter’s watch.

 

Yes, I am in Wond-Elland,

where everyone speaks

like Keith Lemon

- though he is made-up too.

Lump hammers appear

in roadside conversations,

and praise of cheeseboards

will ring out over pub hubbub.

 

On the bus are Poundshop

Michelle Keegans, babies

and upward-punching

husbands in tow.

 

But I revel

in the babbled babel

of the full five-oh-three.

Polish, Portuguese

and the patois

of 2^nd generation

immigrants in leisure-wear

with Strictly-sequinned stripes

down the trouser leg.

 

It has been difficult,

this adventure

through the crooked glass,

we have fought off

The Red Queen,

but still Alice takes

the elixir, against

the day of a return.

 

When March comes,

we’ll welcome the hare,

mad or no, it can be no worse

than following the rabbit.

 

It is fine.

I am fine.

My middle name

is Alexander

and though of late

I haven’t been so very great,

things are getting better.