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Don’t Be Jealous of a Fantasy Younger You

 

The roof of my mouth is icy

with waking. The ice caps

aren’t melting they’re just warming

up. I try not to get to know

technology just like I tried

all my life not to get know

experience. If this isn’t the alternative

then it won’t get read. If it

isn’t mainly in my bloodstream

I won’t steal another train seat.

Never again. My heels ache

when I think of all the kids

with their dictionaries. None

of them have the guts to really

digest things. Laser blast.  Can there be

balls of fire in space? It’s too late.

It’s written. It’s too late I’ve cooked it.

Blackened and inedible. I remember

the freezer boy stealing John Keats.

I remember a harlequin and a corn

field. She’s got strawberries all over her

lips. All this time I’ve been looking

for a line you might quote but

your shelves are so full and I’m

not a kid anymore. The world wrote a letter.

The post office charged me double.

Vignette. Forget borders and coastal

erosion. Erect monuments to robots.

I was holding the hand of a Czech girl.

I didn’t love her. I just found myself holding

her hand. I remember holding her hand

when we reached the all night garage.

I remember looking at her hand and thinking

it was a small hand. I remember the guy in

the all night garage had a face covered by tattoos.

He’s dead now. I remember walking back to her room

and giving her hand to someone who wanted it.

I remember doing things like that a lot back then.

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About michaeleganpoetry

Liverpool based poet and editor. I have had four pamphlets of poetry published, most recently After Stikklestad (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2010). Penned in the Margins published my first collection, Steak & Stations, in 2010.

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