Addle-Yedded Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

He could see below him in his mind's eye
A fine sow: ‘Inna hoo a belter? ' and a litter
Of twelve six-week old weaners ready for market
‘Inna they grand lad' - he asked smiling?
And I was happy to agree that these spectral porkers
Were, as they said, ‘a picture on the breed'.

Years later when some friends visited me
And I found myself telling this story -
With the proviso that if and when addle-yeddedness
Began to permeate my noggin
I would want to also inhabit once again
The farmland and dialect of my youth
Fetching a slop of thirds to the pigsty trough
At which townie observers would happily concur
That my pigs were reet pommers or bobby-dazzlers.