A babe in a pram,

Wheeled down Lord street,

At the speed of a tram.

Mouth engrossed with jelly and swine,

Melting fine

Michelback’s prime.

My mum grew up on these pies,

I too.

 

As an infant into the 80’s,

pate mini pork treats,

from Grimes butchers.

I suppose it is what you grew up with,

Your tastes, your clutches.

Jelly, pastry, succulent meat,

which has made me bias and can only eat-

Grimes pies.

 

Years later and now a travelled man,

given Melton Mowbray boasts a wide birth,

and soon learned, that despite traditions and local prime,

“We have the award winning pies”,

What?  The best on Earth?

Tried them in Wales, Wessex, Sussex and Scotland.

Binned them half-munched in East and West county parishes.

Pastry too dry.

Jelly – non-existent or blithe.

Meat too much like a tin of spam, that I’d use for carp bait.

Seems that only Fleetwood can,

Make that pate crown deluxe.

A gem still left shining,

On Lord Street decay.

Please don’t close the butchers,

Please don’t take my pies away.