Author: Claire Askew
Allocated postcode: EH16
A shock of scrubland in between slums:
a shudder in the workings, and in the dark
the car gives out a high, thin keen.
Ice clings hard to the few cars parked
or chocked in the choke of grass —
some without wheels, without windscreens.
I can smell the slats of card
and chipboard, scorched and rotting
in the damp of drying greens.
Ken whit? you say, as the car ebbs
and coughs: Ken whit? Here’s where
they filmed yon Trainspottin scene.