Diets and Drippers  

Lincoln had pork pies, massive hams,
high tea, white cloths and slippers.
Lard sizzled in our frying pans.
But no one knew of drippers.

They lay in wait in Gloucestershire.
I tried one, warmly thick.
It brought dewed gold; fat’s aftertaste.
It weighed me like a brick.

Now I am thin.  How long she lived
the stout lame woman who
when told, severely, to lose weight
ate one dripper, not two.

A ‘dripper’ in Gloucestershire is a dripping cake. This is sold in small slabs, stuffed with sultanas and dripping with fat.

Alison Brackenbury

If you have any comments on this poem,  Alison Brackenbury  would be pleased to hear from you.