Affecting the balance
A loose cobblestone,
fat as a lump of slow-
cooled basalt, a hazard
for stilt-walkers and girls
in the high-high heels
of now, or anyone disabled,
unable, is the pavement
rebelling beneath our feet
rocking from sand
and mortar to flow as if
revivified, a lava stream
coursing the ancient ways
of the city, a rabble
discontented with its place.
Under traffic’s drone
you can hear its troubles
the crack and spit
as hot stones hit the river.
Scold
All this blah blah is filming my tongue
as if I’ve drunk a litre of full fat
and it’s globules have blocked the pores
slowed the muscle to a milk slug
sliming between my teeth
crying enough, enough.
All this blah blah is stopping my tongue
as if I’ve swallowed plaster of Paris
and its setting heat has fixed the muscle
firmed it for a few weeks, making me rest
then, freed it when silence
has been enough, enough.
All this blah blah has bled my tongue
as if every word is a drop
congealing on the rough post
where it’s been nailed, because I refused
my son, told the recruiters
enough, enough.
