Entry - MAG Poetry Prize 2009

The Angel of The North West

by Jack Baker

Her arms and legs are all fake tanned
but her arse is pale,
she only tans the bits she intends to show off
for a modern day love tale, and yet her northern sarcasms still
ripping the piss right out of me, on the way home
to the angel of the north west.

Loving is such a lovely flirt and then I show her the moonwalk,
she retorts with an unforgiving North West Wit,
and something that was already small
is starting to shrink, on the way home
to the angel of the north west.

If all her mates tell her I’m proper fit
she’s more inclined to text me later tonight
except all her mates think I’m proper minging
so I’m singing to a Salford streetlight
Ever so kindly all my mates will inform
all her mates are obviously northern slappers,
but I’ll be doing my washing up and wishing she was drying up,
then together we could put
the dishes away.

I get so knackered and feel there is no romance,
to be alone in this world, I need to be snuggled up
with my mancunian girl.

All their bellies all spilling out
all up over their top shop crop tops,
she tells all her mates ‘I’m out just for a laugh’
but they all know she’s after trapping off.
On Saturday morning she texts me her number
and with that I quite fancy you, well I start jumping around the room
dancing all on my own in a 1980s disco.

She brings in her big bar of dairy milk,
she snuggles up to me on the sofa,
home at last to
the angel of the north west.

Added: 21.11.2008