From the Calderstones

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“Anny ur-gar, bols, buns,” the rag and bone man spat.

The salt man, too, with barrow or horse, came

in an old brown coat so that their turnips and fat

might have some savor. He lived in the same

briny town and knew how tears preserve the dead,

how money is stained with sweat, how bland are the roots

that fatten underground. Salt can be mined

from caves in the Dungeon south of Liverpool

or evaporated from the tidal waters,

but three pounds of coal must burn for one pound

of salt to be boiled from the sea. Teach your daughters,

translate for your sons. It’s an incoherent sound,

the shout of the unshaven man in the dirty cap,

but he has what you need and he sells it cheap.

8

If he has what you need it won’t be cheap, so send

your canniest child to the greengrocer, and tell

him to wait til the shop is empty. It’s your job to tend

five starving bodies and the coupons will not fill

them. Some black market potatoes might stretch a bit

of meat a little further, some carrots, leeks,

or any wilted starchy roots that wait

beneath the counter. You feed them all, some weeks,

but put yourself to bed with a mug of hot

water and an Oxo cube. When your wild girl throws

the scouse out the window, pretending that the dog

has been sick, or when your melt-eyed boy who knows

better mixes the sugar, salt, and pepper, it

becomes your duty to beat them into appetites.

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