Butter the Muffins the Vikings are Coming (Tom Jenks)

 

we steam down whale roads from the North
scoffing fish and peas     we bypass ice floes
and don’t wear coats     sleep under a duvet

of starlight and rain     our black metal bands
sing epics of midnight supermarkets      long winter nights
of Nordic Noir     beer     no-one’s cooler than us

men who put up shelves     flat pack furniture
and pillaging     with Allen keys round our necks
make landfall on pebbly beaches     our seaweed beards

legs of pine     we chant our blizzard songs
at the ocean in our brains     every year
we bring the storm     butter the muffins chuck

these Vikings are hangry     set out trestle tables
and chairs     spread on barms the potted meat
fizzy pop and fruit salad     one glacé cherry

per serving     here we come in splendid array
but we don’t wear horns     they’d only get
in the way of our berserkers     crashing over

the sanddunes breaking over coastal villages long lost
to the sea     till back we go longboats
filled     with a haul of sagas in our holds   

 

 

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Steve Waling

 

 

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