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York in Poetry: Monks Cross and Clifton Moor

Posted on 24 November 2012 | Audio, Poem

The York ring road is like a noose,
so tightly we have bound it.
Collectively we’ve all gone puce
and cannot get around it…

Let’s hit the road! and take the scenic tour
that leads us over Ouse and over Foss
to dear Monks Cross, to leafy Clifton Moor.

Beloved McArthur Glen! How I adore
to sift my way through your designer dross.
Let’s hit the road! and take the scenic tour.

Your sterile malls are always to the fore -
and yet I soon move on, as quick as poss.,
to dear Monks Cross, to leafy Clifton Moor.

I do not mind the crammed A64,
and stupid drivers cannot make me cross.
Let’s hit the road! and take the scenic tour.

Each visit sees me spend a little more -
a sacrifice that’s surely never loss
to dear Monks Cross, to leafy Clifton Moor.

Stonegate is crap, the Shambles I ignore -
and Coney Street can simply gather moss.
Let’s hit the road! and take the scenic tour
to dear Monks Cross, to leafy Clifton Moor.


I’ve shopped for clothes! and hell, I’ll shop no more
in Tescos, Burtons, Gap. I’m at a loss
in dread Monks Cross, in sleazy Clifton Moor.

McArthur Glen? You chill me to the core!
How can I wear this strange designer dross?
I’ve shopped for clothes! and hell, I’ll shop no more.

I’m fat in this. And how I drop my jaw
at skinny girls like half-fed Katie Moss
in dread Monks Cross, in sleazy Clifton Moor.

How odd it is these places seem to draw
and claw me in – and how it makes me cross.
I’ve shopped for clothes! and hell, I’ll shop no more.

Must I replace the cherished clothes of yore
in vain attempt to add some brand new gloss
in dread Monks Cross, in sleazy Clifton Moor.

I give up now. I’ll walk out in the raw!
I just don’t care! I couldn’t give a toss!
I’ve shopped for clothes! and hell, I’ll shop no more
in dread Monks Cross, in sleazy Clifton Moor.
- Andrew Brown