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“The Larktown Savannah by Stewart Stafford

Pierce the smog-shrouded end of town,
A wheezing, mirthless, blushing clown,
On the river, logs and sticks past me flew,
Ingredients of a swirling, brownish stew.

In the bait shop, the condemned crawl,
A carvery pub lunch next door for all,
The old cinema’s lights are long-dimmed,
A long grass lion’s zebra crossing skimmed.

Seagulls bomb the blustery bridge;
To the water, as to sunset, the midge;
An Elvis impersonator’s sparse crowd tell—
Rhinestone saviour in Wharf Street’s hotel.

© 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford