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THE NORTH-SOUTH DIVIDE By JACOB POLLEY fills with flood-water; the bows of Scotland lift clear of the Atlantic, cod roam the East Anglian plains, kelp throttles Sherwood, the chimneys of the Midlands slowly barnacle, Cumbria tilts; congers lie in catacombs cold-wiring our relics, our kings' bones; a whale hangs a moment singing in the vault of St Paul's, men dive through their Southern libraries, where crabs unpick the calfskin of our histories; Stratford-under-Avon is swanless and rip-tidal, hagfish haunt Leicester Square, anglerfish twinkle through Trafalgar's oyster beds. Look from Manchester out to sea; the South you knew from quiz shows and road maps from nursery rhymes and bad news is gathering a storm to its heaving, gull-broached, heavy-breakered bosom.