We're delighted to present our Poem Of The Day, presented in association with Poetry Ireland.
Today's poem is Ford Escort by Dane Holt - read it below.
Through sheer force of will she got me into school
for my final final-year exam ‒ GCSE Eng Lit. (haha!) ‒
despite my muffled protests and my quick-thinking
with the flannel, soaked in (not too warm!) warm water
to complement my clutching, guttural complaints;
and despite the white Ford Escort ‒ O, childhood! ‒
that brought to mind my Dad, who, she said,
would have to 'aspire to be this useless',
and had ‘at least worked once!’
Did it leave the factory and then the forecourt
rust-speckled, like the last recorded egg
of some dim, flightless bird; was it geared
solely towards missing mornings and (logically thereafter)
whole days of school, and warning after final warning
from work? Either way, I’m revising on the fly as she’s holding it together
round roundabouts, through (uh hum)
amber traffic lights ‒ Mum! Muuum! Identify the metaphor
in this poem ‒ and between the school gates, barely slowing down
before shooing me, protesting still, out the door
behind the driver’s seat ‒ the only one that’ll open.
