9 ‘O’ clock on the watchtower – the barbers walk home,
bowling underarms to children
as they commentate
like Tony Greig.
A tea party on a helipad – watching ships avoiding shops,
McDonalds on every map
turned into wrappers
of sticky landfills.
A Bergman moment on her wall – her time slowly running out,
a park full of couples
afraid to die alone
with the television on.
How many humans have lived on earth? The teacher asks,
sisters, mothers, aunts
and tooth fairies
pray before dawn.
A street full of furniture shops – as the darling day laments,
the dancing bison drums
locked in spirits of sweat
till the cows come home.
Grey machines hollow out countries – it’s after the winter solstice,
a long brown letter
withers by her door,
she’s left a long time ago.
Somewhere in London a sepal bursts – dinosaurs once roamed the earth,
continents drift like ice
on a soda pop lake
making people dizzy
That night a road roller breaks down – teens trash a crumbled den,
the rain falls like caviar
and horses stop for drinks
in the lanthanum moonlight
There is a country beneath the Adriatic Sea – mama says it’s time for bed,
the library is shut
it isn’t fall just yet
but schoolkids wear tweed
How much longing can a human withhold? Whispers the clammy cave,
the river has dried
she reads aloud,
there used to be things called trees.
Comments