NaPoWriMo #30 - It's too dark for cats

It’s too dark for cats

Eiders were an answer in the crossword today
and I remembered ducks and how they shout with every wingbeat
as if protesting their innocence to the air. And then I looked them up
and we are their predators along with peregrine falcons
who don’t use their feathers for duvets, but may do for nests.

I’ve seen a lot of ducks around lately, and have even sought them out.
I’ve laid trails of grain to attract them, and taken photo after photo of them sleeping.

NaPoWriMo #29 - How to be a fashion designer

How to be a fashion designer

Take in all the angles, by which we mean those of limbs
as well as light. Infringe the privacy of anyone you can
with their measurements. Reach a deal with the sky –
it has your career in its sights. Record colours you feel
as abstract feelings and tantalising flavours of macaroon.
Remember the best temperature of the year. Aspire to it.

Don’t let the body be recovered, even after many years,
and make sure any memoir is frayed. We are not saying
you must control what it is of you that’s seen,
but you must control what it is of you that’s seen.
Blurry is better, but keep the material in sharp relief
on other people’s tits. Don’t be afraid. Cut, cut, cut.

NaPoWriMo #28 - Phone calls

Phone calls

It was not busy as we talked, and no-one could hear
save you, who stood with one eye on duty and one on me,
your face filling up with concern. You were not the first

I had told but the third, and this was reflective
of where you stood with your back to the room
and your two feet still on the wooden floor.

Excitement filled my lungs almost as quickly as the words
on the cool night air as I walked home alone, one ear
on the chatter of a homecoming, one on the swish of trees

NaPoWriMo #27 - I spend National Tapir Day at a zoo...

I spend National Tapir Day at a zoo, but do not realise the significance of the date until I get to the tapir enclosure late in the day.

There was never any question of the shape of their snouts but
as a flexible version of a nose
perfectly at odds with their surprising heft,
it does not seem unreasonable of me to
require a demonstration before I leave. None is forthcoming,

though the creatures are less than a metre
away and there is
plenty of food for them to be snuffling out
in this sorry excuse for a tapir
run.

NaPoWriMo #26 - Possession

Possession

I woke to the news that you’d given your parrot
to the gas-man. The only impact left to me
is other people’s reaction to the news.

I remember possessions like water to you
– so easy to give away. A room
with piles of alphabetised CDs and a clean, fresh bed

hardly slept in. False wings up high in the corner.
There is no surprise left in your disappearance
and even the parrot, so I’ve heard lately, has unlearnt your name.

NaPoWriMo #25 - The threats hang like stone-coloured clouds

The threats hang like stone-coloured clouds

Behave. If you don’t behave, you’ll get no
That’s not yours, is it? No, it isn’t.
icecream. No, or pop.

So sorry, he seems to have a mind of his own when it comes to
Don’t put that in your mouth! It’s
whether or not to listen.

dirty. See? Not nice having sand in your
Get away from the dogs!
teeth, all gritty. Yuck.

I don’t think they want to eat sand from your spade
Don’t pick up other people’s rubbish. Oh,
and they might think it’s okay to eat you.

okay, well, don’t play with it – let’s just dig a hole
The sea does sound like it’s roaring, doesn’t it?
and bury it there. Go on, dig!

NaPoWriMo #24 - An old flame walks past wearing red sunglasses

An old flame walks past wearing red sunglasses

There are nets to keep the pigeons
from the sandstone windowsills but nobody looks up.
They are all on the pavement warmed by the sun
save one man in a hurry in the shade,
and the postie is in his short-sleeved shirt – the second
I’ve seen today. And aren’t there so many roads to cross?

A protective dad rests his arms across a small girl’s shoulders;
a woman slips her hand into her lovers as they step from the curb.
I must be the only one still in this city today, the only one watching
-- except a blonde-haired boy rushed by his push-along parents catches my eye
and won’t let go. I feel seen and wonder if they do:
this man leaving William Hill with a slip as long as his muscled forearm,
this well-dressed teenage boy in the back of a topdown car,
this girl only just small enough for her pram.

And across the road, waiting, there are so many secondhand guitars for sale,
and all of them affordable.