In the garden a ginger cat
chatters
his teeth
watches
the dragonfly on the washing line,
the Russian vine twining
over the fence
and butterflies
(At the cricket, wickets fall
applause
hangs in the wind)
The cat matches
the stones
he lies on. Stretches
his length,
soaks up the sun.
The dragonfly (orange) drying its wings
flings itself into the air then
lands, a little further along.
A tiny insect drowns
in my wine. I light
another cigarette,
turn the page.
(Someone else is out. Shouts
carry on the breeze. A police car’s siren
wails.)
In the garden two empty lager cans,
broken clothes pegs, dead leaves
lie.
Next door’s ivy climbs, tumbles over
the wall
carpets the pathway,
hauls itself skywards, blocks
my light.
Saturday 30 August 2008
Saturday 23 August 2008
Floor exercise (Beijing Olympics, 2008)
There was time (I thought)
when I fell
to consider all sorts
of options
(I’d been watching the gymnasts
tumble. Poised at one corner of the square,
tall,
then three steps and a blur
of turning
Their air held them up
Their floor was a trampoline
of bounce.)
I had time to think
Oh!
The double front somersault with twists.
I’ll land it on my feet. Throw a smile
and my arms up, triumphant,
then twirl on my toes, show perfect
control.
There will be applause and high
scores.
I landed
on one knee. Scraped it
through my trousers (the black ones
with interesting embroidery). Twice.
My Love Your Library bag flew. Spilled
its books on the pavement
as I let it
go and hoped no
-one
noticed.
when I fell
to consider all sorts
of options
(I’d been watching the gymnasts
tumble. Poised at one corner of the square,
tall,
then three steps and a blur
of turning
Their air held them up
Their floor was a trampoline
of bounce.)
I had time to think
Oh!
The double front somersault with twists.
I’ll land it on my feet. Throw a smile
and my arms up, triumphant,
then twirl on my toes, show perfect
control.
There will be applause and high
scores.
I landed
on one knee. Scraped it
through my trousers (the black ones
with interesting embroidery). Twice.
My Love Your Library bag flew. Spilled
its books on the pavement
as I let it
go and hoped no
-one
noticed.
Saturday 16 August 2008
The interview (afternoon)
Tell us about your family.
Was it your mother you were closest to, or
your father?
Were you happy
as a child?
Tell us
about a good time
and another that was
bad
(There are no right answers)
Why was the caravan such fun
when it was full of daddy-long-legs?
Were you ever bullied?
If someone told you ‘Do this’,
would you
if you
thought it was wrong?
(There are no right answers)
They are slightly sinister, the askers.
They have a list.
Was it your mother you were closest to, or
your father?
Were you happy
as a child?
Tell us
about a good time
and another that was
bad
(There are no right answers)
Why was the caravan such fun
when it was full of daddy-long-legs?
Were you ever bullied?
If someone told you ‘Do this’,
would you
if you
thought it was wrong?
(There are no right answers)
They are slightly sinister, the askers.
They have a list.
The interview (morning)
Turn right into Millfleet. Left into Church Street
then right onto Boal Quay.
See the river.
See 18 miles at 24.2p each.
There is no parking,
not even in marked
bays
and time
is tight
Right at the top (mind the white
van)
cling tight
to the bend
and
stop.
Feed the machine: it’s only short stay
so all day
's expensive.
Push the door. It’s dark blue, heavy.
A tiny blonde behind the glass
smiles. ‘It’s Sue you want’, she says.
Sue has a pass.
There is history in the room Sue shows me to
(it’s in guidebooks
and tour groups look
through its windows)
and five women, nervous.
Coffee in long thin sachets. Hot
water in a flask act-
ivated by a firm press on top.
Nobody moves.
Fliss and Lottie arrive, jolly.
‘Hello!’ they say.
‘We’re here to tell you
what it’s like. There’ll be two short written exercises
during the course of the morning and the rest
of the time
we can deal with your questions.’
There are no right answers,
apparently.
The best place to sit is directly opposite
Fliss while
Lottie smiles.
I am to the right of Fliss, watching.
then right onto Boal Quay.
See the river.
See 18 miles at 24.2p each.
There is no parking,
not even in marked
bays
and time
is tight
Right at the top (mind the white
van)
cling tight
to the bend
and
stop.
Feed the machine: it’s only short stay
so all day
's expensive.
Push the door. It’s dark blue, heavy.
A tiny blonde behind the glass
smiles. ‘It’s Sue you want’, she says.
Sue has a pass.
There is history in the room Sue shows me to
(it’s in guidebooks
and tour groups look
through its windows)
and five women, nervous.
Coffee in long thin sachets. Hot
water in a flask act-
ivated by a firm press on top.
Nobody moves.
Fliss and Lottie arrive, jolly.
‘Hello!’ they say.
‘We’re here to tell you
what it’s like. There’ll be two short written exercises
during the course of the morning and the rest
of the time
we can deal with your questions.’
There are no right answers,
apparently.
The best place to sit is directly opposite
Fliss while
Lottie smiles.
I am to the right of Fliss, watching.
Saturday 9 August 2008
Prescription
The pharmacist has streaked spiky hair
and a smile
Address?
she says and hands over
medicine
in a box
The medicine makes it matter less
but not much
not nearly much
enough
and a smile
Address?
she says and hands over
medicine
in a box
The medicine makes it matter less
but not much
not nearly much
enough
Out of work (2)
A lady with an inny-outy pouty mouth,
a pencil and a book, draws
and drinks a bottle of beer.
Children with string catch crabs.
One, in the creek, finds a fish,
puts it in a yellow basket.
(The fish, disliking both yellow
and baskets,
jumps
out.)
As the tide rises,
boats float.
a pencil and a book, draws
and drinks a bottle of beer.
Children with string catch crabs.
One, in the creek, finds a fish,
puts it in a yellow basket.
(The fish, disliking both yellow
and baskets,
jumps
out.)
As the tide rises,
boats float.
Out of work (1)
It rained all day
in August in Holt
but as we left the sun came out
I want a pot of tea I said
sitting outside somewhere. Let’s pretend
it’s summer and everything
‘s all right
On Blakeney quay there was music
and I went to buy tea
from a man in a van but
‘We’re closed’ he said,
crossly.
Jen ate an ice cream. We climbed
a very steep hill that went nowhere
but up.
We saw yachts and wooden seagulls
in cottage windows;
behind houses found
a narrow alleyway.
A man
took pictures of a wall.
Why? We asked
then squeezed small
to let cars pass.
in August in Holt
but as we left the sun came out
I want a pot of tea I said
sitting outside somewhere. Let’s pretend
it’s summer and everything
‘s all right
On Blakeney quay there was music
and I went to buy tea
from a man in a van but
‘We’re closed’ he said,
crossly.
Jen ate an ice cream. We climbed
a very steep hill that went nowhere
but up.
We saw yachts and wooden seagulls
in cottage windows;
behind houses found
a narrow alleyway.
A man
took pictures of a wall.
Why? We asked
then squeezed small
to let cars pass.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
