An English Lesson Poem by John a'Beckett

A bronze sun on a black rim fights
to shine out of a carbonated dawn
In mist outline of roof and steeple
peak Warsaw traffic’s backing up
my clipped, communication-able
student of Biz English, Mr Zoniev,

bit-salesman, bit-customer of speech
packed tight, quite muscular behind
the panel of his fit, assertive Polonez
one hand on cell-phone, other wheel
both ready-gripped to hit the claxon
“See you- zis seeti’s krayzee peepel! ”

Me, passenger of his driven shouts-
-my text book, “Forward! ” bouncing
on my knee, says “Let Learners drive
the lesson”.Here in the front hot seat
I work at bits of Anglo-Saxon I can fit
between the grammar of his rave.

Four sessions in Flight English later
we’ve shot off from Bemowo airport
in a crate, his “ultra light”. Verbs rise
right out of difficult declension as we
cut clouds in linguistic ascension to
peaks of perfect and laconic phrase.