Hometown
A poem about Blackpool and homesickness
I wish I kept my accent,
that words flowed over my mouth.
That my tongue still tasted
like butter and gravy.
I wish that I kept my accent.
That I had something that
belonged to the place,
where I was born.
I wish that my roots
ran so deep through my flesh
that my voice couldn’t help but reflect,
where I come from.
I wish that when I talked
I could hear the seaside,
see the Blackpool lights.
Taste the chips from my hometown.
