Imposters in stripy shirts walk in like they own the look,
And maybe they do,
What if I’m the fake?
What if the man who just walked in unnoticed is me?
And I’m not sat at this table,
Writing these words,
What if none of this is happening?
What if I never woke up this morning?
A squealing dog serenades me,
A clean car parks next to me,
I’ll see you later,
I’ll tell you everything,
Though none of it will ever be written or printed,
We will still appear to be Punk and Judy
On the morning you left,
The sun in place,
Above the fields of Essex,
Another thing with wings cutting a cloudless sky,
Why would I ever want to leave?
BLOCK 1, 2, 3:
Half in sun,
Half in shade,
Do you know how long your hair is?
And how mad your hat is?
And that Silver thing about your lips,
And a crazy-eyed look,
Abandoning a man to his White shirt on wheels
Put your hands over my ears,
One of them is ringing,
Do you love it?
Like a bell
THE FEAST OF CHICKEN PINEAPPLE:
One in Orange,
One in Green,
Disappear into the trees,
Some still carrying blossom,
Like children’s nursery rhymes
A small crowd,
Gathered at the edge of a freshly mown field,
Contemplate the speed of slience