iii. privacy policy Missing you
The woman in her twenties
is amazed sheās an anomaly. Sheās
doing fine ā if fine means living,
breathing, getting married, having
children ā without the chunk
that in us normals holds half
of all our neurons. Her brain,
the jaw-dropped doctors think,
became expert in alternatives,
workarounds, diversions. Whoās to say
sheās not finer than the rest
of us? Our signals
take no chances, walk
the roads most travelled by, while hers,
double-jointed,
are dancing.
Surplus, 1919
And what if you assembled them
in some giant stadium, all two million
and announced: Weāre very sorry
but thereās no-one left
to marry you. Would there be outcry
demands for explanation, Why
did you send them? Thousands
upon thousands, and when they were gone
you dispatched reinforcements. Would they
charge the stage, commandeer the microphone, pitch you
to the crowds? Or sit, stunned, wondering
how now to live: alone
or worse, with parents; how
to earn, with what to occupy
those hours emptied of expected
spouse and children. And would they
still be sitting there, all two million
when you, impatient, having said
your piece, turn off
the lights, leave,
go home to your wife.
Beneath the cow
Beneath the cow, far far down, from the field behind and another thousand feet: a tunnel, made by men, to blow up other men. Beneath the cow, now so peaceful, now busy grazing, they ploughed through Belgian clay ā during the dig, eleven perish, trapped, the twelfth surviving for six days to emerge, walk away from his grave, already dug.
And all this for what? A line of craters, now water-filled, lakes and pools, and inside these now one-hundred-year-old holes, alterations in Earthās geography, and history, their creators, tunnellers and sappers, heard for days afterwards their enemy crying. Men, buried, dying.
After seeing Monetās Waterlilies and then hearing the news
I save a set of pores
for sadness (itās viscous,
sags the skin if you donāt specify).
Usually I empty once a month,
or maybe
fortnightly
but now itās so much I canāt keep up it spills into adjacent zones
where the walls are flimsy flooding is a real threat. I try
to activate the Emergency Heart Fence
but the buttonās stuck, instructions
shredded years ago. If you know how
to bail out, reinforce and stabilise
please call.
What is it that fills us
A song for the last of the gasometers
They first suggested relocation. They did this out of love, wanting to avoid dismantlement, demolition. All but one agreed; the final one said:
ā Not without my gas.
They went away, drew up plans and schemas, investigated pressure, volume, temperature. They did this out of love...