Never been, but I know of the place,

hasn’t yet aged with taste,

A friend of mine went to uni there

and there’s lots of jobs, or so I hear.


…Yes that’s all that will bring you here

most born here soon flee the nest

and the rest…

They linger

held home by something

one can’t quite place a fin­ger on

but even­tu­ally, resigned to see it through

they look beyond

and then they find

little depos­its of culture

hid­den among the degrees

and care­fully planted trees

like moss, gradu­ally peeking

through cracks in weathered rocks.

A patch of blue between thick clouds

and when you sat down to write a plea for pity

you found your­self writ­ing a love poem to your city.

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