Mayday

[penguin]

The 144 to Birmingham took twenty years
to burgeon from an image on the horizon
to the finish of the marathon. She promised
me I’d catch it but waiting is a hard habit
to stop, unlike this Midland Red bus
that plods at funeral carriage pace.
Of all the days in all the Mays she dies
upon the hottest – she was always inapposite:
mini-skirted in her forties, wearing high-heels
and stockings; she had the legs. By the time
I get to Droitwich, Saturday stings my eyelids,
squinting at shiny shoppers, at flowers wrapped
in plastic, the tussle for parking spaces
and the insouciance of swans. I’ve exhausted
the deposit of fond memories by Longbridge
and grimly disinter our final visit.
The Tories just defeated; double glazing’s
being fitted. Them kiddies have been messed with
and the bastards should be strung up by the ends
of their expletives; the country’s going backwards,
all these wogs and niggers, even the weather’s
being changed to suit their pigment. So colourful,
ain’t it, Handsworth, Balsall Heath and Smethwick,
overrun by weed and reggae, baltis and chapattis.
All the stuff she’d kept a lid on leapt out hissing
and splashed into my face, I was embarrassed
for my missus and our lasses, taught to view the world
through rose-tinted glasses: we left with bad excuses.
Now the axis of the white working classes
has departed: plunging from the mirror,
to the sun, to the star, to outer darkness.

[billy]

The 144 to Birmingham took twenty years is it a bus route? most even britsh people probably need some kind of let in as to what the 144 is.
to burgeon from an image on the horizon
to the finish of the marathon. She promised i like the enjambment of this line as it gives two distinct flavours to the next line.
me I’d catch it but waiting is a hard habit
to stop, unlike this Midland Red bus right, so it is a bus route, disregard the earlier comment, i missed this line on the initial few reads.
that plods at funeral carriage pace. would 'along" smooth the line out a little at present 'funeral carriage pace' has me pausing, it could just be me though.
Of all the days in all the Mays she dies
upon the hottest – she was always inapposite: nice word use
mini-skirted in her forties, wearing high-heels great image to back up the vocabulary
and stockings; she had the legs. By the time enjambment feels awkward here
I get to Droitwich, Saturday stings my eyelids,
squinting at shiny shoppers, at flowers wrapped
in plastic, the tussle for parking spaces
and the insouciance of swans. I’ve exhausted this reads a little like, you've exhausted nonchalant swans i like the word but think it it will be hard to grasp it's pronunciation for too many
the deposit of fond memories by Longbridge
and grimly disinter our final visit. i'd have liked to see a break here.
The Tories just defeated; double glazing’s
being fitted. Them kiddies have been messed with
and the bastards should be strung up by the ends
of their expletives; the country’s going backwards,
all these wogs and niggers, even the weather’s
being changed to suit their pigment. So colourful,
ain’t it, Handsworth, Balsall Heath and Smethwick,
overrun by weed and reggae, baltis and chapattis. the italics work well, and the aside was stingingly true for many of the working class, both then and now
All the stuff she’d kept a lid on leapt out hissing
and splashed into my face, I was embarrassed
for my missus and our lasses, taught to view the world
through rose-tinted glasses: we left with bad excuses.
Now the axis of the white working classes
has departed: plunging from the mirror,
to the sun, to the star, to outer darkness. this last line feels too fancy pants poetry stuff.

a journey into Birmingham's inner city areas for a funeral. but whose funeral. i know about her to some extent and some of her personality was given with great images, but who was she?

i like the racially tied lines and the stereotyping, you did it well, but my problem is this. if you and yours were as below:

All the stuff she’d kept a lid on leapt out hissing
and splashed into my face, I was embarrassed
for my missus and our lasses, taught to view the world
through rose-tinted glasses: we left with bad excuses.
Now the axis of the white working classes

why didn't you use a car or taxi? if you had no car can't be presumed you passed through all those areas mention,? the bull ring, spaghetti junction. all lead in the inner city areas. my point being that if you'd never seen those places before you were indeed wearing rose specs. (but unbelievable rose specs)

a great read, some good vocabulary, and some fantastic outpourings. (with the italics)

thanks for the read.

[penguin]

Thanks, Billy.
"that plods at funeral carriage pace". would 'along" smooth the line out ? I had "plods along" at one stage then took it out for same reason you'd like it in!I'm really not sure.
I think you might be right about the line break after the final visit line.
The final lines are meant to describe the journey of many of the white working classes - from The Mirror to The Sun to The Star but the capitals make it too obvious, I thought.
The subject is my mother. I'll maybe put her name in somewhere.
The poem describes my journey on the day of the funeral and also harks back to the last family visit. I don't say that we passed through Handsworth, Balsall Heath and Smethwick. My mother refers to them as examples of areas overrun by immigrants. Our children (and foster children) were reasonably young at the time and not that familiar with racist tirades - I don't think.I knew her views, of course, but because we had many black friends she's kept quiet on such matters. But she was dying, you know, she can be excused a last blast.

Ray

[billy]

valid point with the not passing through though it's what i saw, (i immersed myself too much maybe )
i got the point of the tabloids but i think for them to add anything they could have been mentioned higher up the poem.