Taking off

A Brexit poem by Liz Lefroy

Liz Lefroy

Climbing out of Birmingham, we look down
on runways cushioned by grass fields,
diminishing cars, roads, slate roofs
lined up beside dark trees.

We retrace ourselves at altitude,
head back north-west,
have hardly started when land gives way
to sea flecked white with foam.

Up here we note the geography of flight:
the gap of the Mersey, the shore of Ireland,
and in-between, a wind farm, its tiny blades
paddling the air, pushing us further away.

We see Britain for what it is now:
dense and small—so attached to its edges.

An autumn note

“For many, the end of this uneasy year cannot come quickly enough”

An ordinary killing

Ian Cobain’s book uses the killing of Millar McAllister to paint a meticulous portrait of the Troubles

Greater—not wiser

John Mullan elucidates the genius of Charles Dickens
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