Eboracum

Bewilderment of bones, stratified

under crouch of wynds and ginnels,

open coffins an invitation

or reminder of frailty.

History: a modern picnic

half digested, before eaten.

Wondered how many teeth found

in the grounds of a ruined abbey,

where flocks of one legged pirate

pigeons pepper your parkland

with shit.

Listen; birdsong, traffic, voices,

common language, offer up choices,

so many accents,

'Buy a piece of the
past missus?'

Take a guided tour in pony and trap,

save your legs and catch a local call,

'Gerron yer Gippo's.'

as our clipclops pass a wide mouth

frothed by an open lager can.

Visitors welcome, mind walls remain,

exits, well marked in rail lines,

gates and a thunder of signs.

City of conquerors, you have not changed,

neither have we, seeking an identity

through those who have gone before.