A Poem by Jennifer Cooke


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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