A Poem by Jennifer Cooke
Phew
the Alaska of desire and the negative ape befriend me
behind Tescos
slaked with spit-roasting we call the Ombudsman
he's out, away, somewhere nice I believe in
with a three-sided multi-spindle drilling machine, unplugged, idle
we wait for Europe to rinse herself
a clock beats time in the old way
madam is meticulous, folding and refolding, event-making
For Use
drama’s capsule, blue and red, with instructions
we are four - or is it few I remember badly and blankly my history
"why, that wine’s really something" for what?
it stinks here, with the shiny surfaces of architecture's firm hand
what's proper is to sit legs together so we do
on paintpots, upturned, empty staring at the machine
Alaska shifts but we don't say it
time goes by in the carpark
when speaking is done we are all adoring the words
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