I Know This City: A Poem by Sue Dymoke

illustration: Ian Carrington

I know this city.

I know that Yates’s Wine Lodge
(where the Australian wine liquor is like no other)
is still Yates’s
even though the Friends’ Trio no longer plays here.

I know that the left lion is
the best place to meet
while the right lion stares enviously,
forever the loner.

I know that strictly no confetti can be thrown
on the Council House steps,
the Christmas market arrives too early each year
and will, once more, outstay its welcome.

I now know that ostrich burgers, reindeer steaks
and Lincolnshire Poacher are traditional Xmas flavours
and you can buy reusable snow
or a 99 cornet in late November.

I know that Nottingham people
can seem reserved
or suspicious even
before they welcome you.

I know they like to drink and plan
their stages of inebriation over a lunchtime natter
a first pint, a cheeky glass of fizz to pep up
their afternoon endeavour.

I know this city is in early winter:
plane trees have lost their leaf loads
and first frosts crust windscreen and pavement.

I know that the laughter in here is getting louder
and glitter-topped twenty-somethings cluster
round their Primark bags, draining glasses,
urging their barman to be quicker.

I know that some of their future other halves
have headed sofa-wards to big screen
BTSKY pre-match reports, league tables, speculation
and plenty of banter.

I know that the warming fug of chips,
steak and ale pies, hand-battered pollock
thickens the air and there are Cumberland sausages
smothered nibbles and sharers to tide us over.

I know that the birthday girl wears a pink rosette
jelly babies are an essential cocktail ingredient
and the wrong kind of sambuca selfie shot
can be a horror.

I know that the lairy lads in the next booth mean no harm
but they're shipping in the next round
betting on the next goal
first bloke to get the new girl's number.

I know that County lost again today
and Cloughie is a city hero forever.

I know this city
I know the late bus will be lively
and someone drunk will kick off
about something on the journey.

But, most importantly, I know that,
when they reach their stop,
the people will always always
thank their driver -
unless, of course, they're strangers.

Sue Dymoke website
Read our interview with Sue