The White Poppy Woman
Coming into Sheffield.
The rain so hard and northern
that the coach windows
are pummelled to a rattle.
A city. It’s metal, choke and smoke.
A history of saying no to the mean,
yes to those who gamble or wonder.
Us maybe, if we love, throw our dice.
For you are the white poppy woman.
Young enough to grasp a revolution.
Wise to make the unkind flinch.
To cause this rain to question itself.