For Figgy
The crisp-suited skullmen dismissing our concerns
with a wave and a permanent grin.
'Think of it more,' he enunciates tonguelessly,
'as a... change of venue.'
One of his associates gestures expansively
towards the roaring furnace mouth.
Its iron fangs clang shut
then ratchet back open, belching clinkers
that glow and glow like powerups.
We look at each other uncertainly.
The skullmen adjust their grey cuffs,
continue smiling.
Friday, 25 November 2011
#18: Little Bag of Deku Nuts
For Emma
They rattle and clack like wet crabs in a string bag
or smooth pebbles in a net
or loose cobbles beneath a cartwheel
or pool balls in a stocking
or a fistful of peppercorns
or a cartload of cannonballs
or sand grains on a snare skin
or planets rolling round a star;
they sit in the snug heel of a catapult,
the snug belly of the damp earth,
the snug cheek of a belt pouch.
They rattle and clack like wet crabs in a string bag
or smooth pebbles in a net
or loose cobbles beneath a cartwheel
or pool balls in a stocking
or a fistful of peppercorns
or a cartload of cannonballs
or sand grains on a snare skin
or planets rolling round a star;
they sit in the snug heel of a catapult,
the snug belly of the damp earth,
the snug cheek of a belt pouch.
#17: Egg
For A F Harrold
If you sit on her, she will hatch.
We are doing this old school -
none of these incubators
with their sterile yellow light
and clacking footsteps that echo
like teaspoons at breakfast.
Once a day, roll her
to stop her yolk from sticking.
Keep her safe from weasels,
badgers, stoats and foxes
by camoflaging her with some dry grass
and a few twigs.
Set up a nightvision camera
for when her shell begins to split.
If you sit on her, she will hatch.
We are doing this old school -
none of these incubators
with their sterile yellow light
and clacking footsteps that echo
like teaspoons at breakfast.
Once a day, roll her
to stop her yolk from sticking.
Keep her safe from weasels,
badgers, stoats and foxes
by camoflaging her with some dry grass
and a few twigs.
Set up a nightvision camera
for when her shell begins to split.
#16: Two Goats Too Many
For Mab
An embarrassment of white beards
clogged the lecture hall.
Brendon struggled gamely on with the seminar;
some rolled their old eyes,
others chewed in languid, pugnacious circles.
Set texts gave beneath hard jaws,
syntax and semiotics a sudden washing machine nonsense,
the sagacity that played across their faces
like potato bugs.
Sometimes a bell rang,
its clapper muffled with lank hair.
Sometimes, their mute gaze seemed to focus
like a laser.
An embarrassment of white beards
clogged the lecture hall.
Brendon struggled gamely on with the seminar;
some rolled their old eyes,
others chewed in languid, pugnacious circles.
Set texts gave beneath hard jaws,
syntax and semiotics a sudden washing machine nonsense,
the sagacity that played across their faces
like potato bugs.
Sometimes a bell rang,
its clapper muffled with lank hair.
Sometimes, their mute gaze seemed to focus
like a laser.
#15: The Magical Mr Interrobang
For J Fergus Evans
'Mr Interrobang?!' the children exclaimed
as he burst from their teacher
in a cascade of ichor and mince.
In fact, Ms Clements had just been a larval stage;
the useless skin now sloughed off
like a wet duffel coat.
'Bonsoir!' he said, and doffed his top hat
to reveal a tiny version of himself
standing in a tiny puddle of innards
atop his head, also doffing a top hat,
which in turn exposed a flea-sized replica,
and presumably so on, and so on,
like a fractal scream.
He pulled a clump of sweets from his waistcoat pocket,
held together with clotted blood.
'Now,' he said, licking his whiskers,
'who'd like a gumdrop?'
'Mr Interrobang?!' the children exclaimed
as he burst from their teacher
in a cascade of ichor and mince.
In fact, Ms Clements had just been a larval stage;
the useless skin now sloughed off
like a wet duffel coat.
'Bonsoir!' he said, and doffed his top hat
to reveal a tiny version of himself
standing in a tiny puddle of innards
atop his head, also doffing a top hat,
which in turn exposed a flea-sized replica,
and presumably so on, and so on,
like a fractal scream.
He pulled a clump of sweets from his waistcoat pocket,
held together with clotted blood.
'Now,' he said, licking his whiskers,
'who'd like a gumdrop?'
#14: BEARS
For Jan
There were no bears that Easter.
In any case, the cake shop was closed
and Graham was loaded for quail.
He made a fort out of Victoria sponges,
muzzle poking between creamy tiers,
sights trained on the letterbox.
Any quail entering through that tantalising rectangle
would be his - this year, he was sure of it.
He ate an eclair
and blew on the lure he'd bought on Ebay.
A great roar echoed through the meringue.
Graham frowned.
The door to the cake shop filled with shadow.
There were no bears that Easter.
In any case, the cake shop was closed
and Graham was loaded for quail.
He made a fort out of Victoria sponges,
muzzle poking between creamy tiers,
sights trained on the letterbox.
Any quail entering through that tantalising rectangle
would be his - this year, he was sure of it.
He ate an eclair
and blew on the lure he'd bought on Ebay.
A great roar echoed through the meringue.
Graham frowned.
The door to the cake shop filled with shadow.
#13: Kind John Loses It
For Luke
The children are ungrateful.
The regard the wooden toys
he spent the last two months making in his workshop
with wrinkle-nosed skepticism,
turning them this way and that
like a jeweller.
An artery pulses in his reddening throat.
The teacher cannot meet his gaze
and pretends to do her marking.
Some snot-bearded type places his train on the floor
upside-down, and tries to push it along.
KIND JOHN (erupting): Right!
No artisan toys for you, you bloody
bloody bloody bloody (snatching up
smooth pine motor cars with each word)
bloody bloody bloody
shower of bastards!
The children are ungrateful.
The regard the wooden toys
he spent the last two months making in his workshop
with wrinkle-nosed skepticism,
turning them this way and that
like a jeweller.
An artery pulses in his reddening throat.
The teacher cannot meet his gaze
and pretends to do her marking.
Some snot-bearded type places his train on the floor
upside-down, and tries to push it along.
KIND JOHN (erupting): Right!
No artisan toys for you, you bloody
bloody bloody bloody (snatching up
smooth pine motor cars with each word)
bloody bloody bloody
shower of bastards!
#12: Christmas Party Kudos
For Bex
Paolo makes an arrangement with the DJ beforehand,
slipping several bunched notes into the nook of their handshake;
later, when the DJ unbunches his fist,
they roll out like stiff paper roses.
Paolo will push the tip of an index finger into his ear
whenever anyone says something surprising.
This is the signal.
At 9:31pm, Lady Gaga's Telephone is playing
when drunk Grace, ladling punch into her plastic cup,
says, under camoflage of song, that once,
at work, she pooed herself a little bit,
and didn't wipe her bum till she got home.
He does the signal.
*RECORD SCRATCH*
'Whaaaaaat?!' says Paolo
in the fresh silence.
The DJ winks.
Paolo makes an arrangement with the DJ beforehand,
slipping several bunched notes into the nook of their handshake;
later, when the DJ unbunches his fist,
they roll out like stiff paper roses.
Paolo will push the tip of an index finger into his ear
whenever anyone says something surprising.
This is the signal.
At 9:31pm, Lady Gaga's Telephone is playing
when drunk Grace, ladling punch into her plastic cup,
says, under camoflage of song, that once,
at work, she pooed herself a little bit,
and didn't wipe her bum till she got home.
He does the signal.
*RECORD SCRATCH*
'Whaaaaaat?!' says Paolo
in the fresh silence.
The DJ winks.
#11: The Hole In The Ceiling
For Jo and Rich
At first it was neglible - about the size of a sparrow's skull -
and Penny called me a twat for even mentioning it
when the estate agent showed us round.
Some sort of shimmering dust was falling in a bright cascade.
'What's that?' I said,
and the estate feigned ignorance,
looked at me like I had bought my senses an ice lolly
then abandoned them on a beach.
Soon, there was no ceiling. We lay in bed,
salted with pixie sand,
beneath a whirling multidimensional void
that I could see through my eyelids.
Lightning banged across its heartache reaches.
The stitches in my shoulder itched and fizzled.
At first it was neglible - about the size of a sparrow's skull -
and Penny called me a twat for even mentioning it
when the estate agent showed us round.
Some sort of shimmering dust was falling in a bright cascade.
'What's that?' I said,
and the estate feigned ignorance,
looked at me like I had bought my senses an ice lolly
then abandoned them on a beach.
Soon, there was no ceiling. We lay in bed,
salted with pixie sand,
beneath a whirling multidimensional void
that I could see through my eyelids.
Lightning banged across its heartache reaches.
The stitches in my shoulder itched and fizzled.
#10: The Day I Said No To The Man From Del Monte
For Tessa and Tim
Under the dirty lid of a panama
he bit into the satsuma.
Juice squirted across his jowls,
trickled down the loose skin of his neck.
He watched me as he chomped.
'No good,' he said.
He spat a grot of pith into the soil.
He turned to his men by the light aircraft.
'Burn it. Burn it all.'
Soon, the islanders' groves were ablaze.
Mothers ran clutching their children into the sea.
Smoke followed in our slipstream as we rose.
He proffered an orange juice in a crystal stemmed glass.
'No thank you,' I said,
and turned to watch the sunrise.
Under the dirty lid of a panama
he bit into the satsuma.
Juice squirted across his jowls,
trickled down the loose skin of his neck.
He watched me as he chomped.
'No good,' he said.
He spat a grot of pith into the soil.
He turned to his men by the light aircraft.
'Burn it. Burn it all.'
Soon, the islanders' groves were ablaze.
Mothers ran clutching their children into the sea.
Smoke followed in our slipstream as we rose.
He proffered an orange juice in a crystal stemmed glass.
'No thank you,' I said,
and turned to watch the sunrise.
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