Tuesday Poem: POMAGNE

Monday 23 August 1999 23:02 BST

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

BY BLAKE MORRISON

`Be careful not to spill it when it pops.

He'd bloody crucify me if he caught us.'

We had taken months to get to this,

our first kiss a meeting of stalagmite

and stalactite. The slow drip of courtship:

her friend, June, interceding with letters,

the intimate struggle each Friday

under the Plaza's girder of light.

But here we were at last, drinking Pomagne

in her parents' double bed, Christmas Eve

and the last advent-calendar door.

`Did you hear the gate click?' `No, did you?'

Our poems until Wednesday come from Blake Morrison's `Selected Poems' (Granta Books, pounds 8.99)

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Tuesday Poem: POMAGNE

Join our commenting forum

Thank you for registering