Poem of the Year 2007

I should stop saying I hate poetry. It's not true. My position is far more nuanced and subtle than that. I just think 98% of all poetry is shite.

And who, citizen, subject or slave, could disagree with that grave judgement, pondered long?

I didn't read much good poetry this year, and the good poetry I read was mostly old stuff. But as the knackered year gasped its last, its liver packing in as it fell over the finish line, I read a poem that I loved (well, wanted to shag... what do you think this is, the Age of Chivalry?)

It's a Christmas poem (God help us) and it's in the Guardian (may Marx preserve us), so it should be shit squared. But Christmas is a time of miracles.

It's by Glyn Maxwell, and it's called Hometown Mystery Cycle.

Enjoy.