Whit Weekend 1960

by Margaret Gleave

I want to stay in my dream;
the one where I'm dancing with Adam Faith.

I've never heard my mother cry before;

I don't know that life has changed downstairs.
I've never heard my mother cry before.

I hate burning toast.

I don't know my French irregular verbs for today's test,
or this morning's Daily Mail headlines

My sparkly sandals are sitting in my wardrobe.

I don't know I'll see Uncle Billy's photo splashed across the front page -
Man kicked to death in lonely Peak District lane.

Two days ago there he stood, waving at the front door.
See you Monday.

His work clothes wait on his chair,
bedside clock still ticking.

I wish I was dreaming.

Judge's Comments - Roger Elkin

Another disturbing, and powerful poem, but one in which the fragmented structure (primarily unrhymed couplets and isolated lines) conspires to re-affirm the bizarre and life-shattering events. As with several of the shortlisted poems what is important is "an economy of means", (just count the adjectives, then check what exactly they are doing) so that there is not an unnecessary word: the details, free-ranging and discordant to the point of jarring, combine to form a dream-world of childhood innocence suddenly and brutally dismembered by a reported newspaper headline. The poem explores the tensions and fragility between the secure world of childhood - "sparkly sandals ... sitting in my wardrobe" - and the harsh realities of the wider, bigger world. The jangled events - almost dispassionate in expression, and without emotion - are made more passionate and emotional by the verbal distancing. This is assured writing.