Yes! These delicious, out-of-this world fruits are back in Ponders End.
Last year was so difficult with the ban on the import of this wonderful fruit from India and Pakistan. My heart screamed with horror but my head knew it was right but now there is harmony. To mark the occasion I post one of my mango poems.
Mango
In dull Ponders End, glorious, exotic colours!
Boxes red, blue, gold, I bought one
from a man in a khaki tunic, dense beard;
six, Royal, Honey Mangoes.
You like them don’t you.
I sell eighty boxes a day.
They were piled up on the pavement
outside the shop by the mosque
full of men in white; yes just men
all with beard and crocheted cap.
Next door they sell Barfi, Halwa, lentils
and twists of deep-fried, orange-stained,
sugar-soaked batter.
From the door you can see
Weatherspoon’s* in the Picture Palace
where Mosquitoes** were once assembled
by Enfield’s men and women,
whilst bombs fell in the High Street.
I remember black and grey days
my gabardine raincoat
ersatz jam with sawdust pips.
You exactly fit my hand.
Lie there listless, with yellow,
shadow-dimpled skin.
Shining, bright-coloured strips
are pinioned by a brilliant label
as some intimate jewel.
Sharply, I slit down to your core,
carefully spoon you open.
The flesh that meets my lips
is as soft as a woman,
sweet and subtly fragrant,
a complicated taste.
What else could you be
my Pakistani mango?
© Anthony Fisher July 2012
*British pub chain that specialises in using unusual buildings.
**World war II bomber designed by De Havilland. It was made of wood so Enfield’s furniture factories could make sections that could be assembled elsewhere.
The man in the shop told me he now sells 100 boxes per day.
