I notice that you’re a dreamer
That you continue to stand there,
With Sir Polar Bear;
Engulfed in its colossal shadow,
And I can see that you know,
That I know
That you know this too.
It seems you can be forever surrounded,
By an endless sea of molten metals
Your mysterious lands;
Crumbling,
Decomposing with rust;
Endlessly being anchored –
By your hidden flamboyance
Always to be taken –
By complex science
To a certain past
And a future lost.
When it’s all too much or you just can’t stick it,
And your impulse is to refuse.
But what if this is a trick, can it be too late?
Now… how funny is this? Or so cruel,
How strange; repulsively-beautiful.
But right now you can’t explain; you can’t begin to try!
Because…
At least one of us is the same; you feel better now —
Finding found… Goodbye!
Loaf of bread, best before date 1-2-16
Banana, best before date 2-2-16
Skimmed milk, best before date 3-2-16
A bottle of wine…
Barn eggs, best before date 4-2-16
Whole Chicken, best before date 5-2-16
Sugar, best before date 6-2-16
Bottle of water, best before date 7-2-15!
Dates, best before date… correction
One bad joke, use by date…
This poem’s best by date…
Everything expired… rotting freely.
Do you see what I hear?
Because I can hear you looking,
And I can feel your influence upon me.
Goddamn it! Unknown…
Make yourself known!
Only real horses with real legs allowed!
The signs, at the field, ordered, as the wind howled.
The rockers rocked slowly; utterly devastated.
Being fed a downright lie; their field was so highly rated.
In their fury they rocked hard and rammed the signs down.
The real horses while shitting; fled, galloping to town.
The field was now theirs and everything was great!
Until the towns-folk arrived with rusty saws and spiteful hate.
A long, calamitous battle commenced in which nobody won.
Then the contractors arrived…
Infuriatingly Indestructable, and at that point of my childhood (back In the 80’s) when a little destruction would do me fine. I was convinced that this truck was not a toy, but more — a test!
Somehow, forged with alien metals, this orange dump trucks’ durability bore an unforunate resemblance to that of a black box flight recorder (how can it endure such incomprehensible abrasion?). Maybe, just maybe, I’ve been living as a slow aeroplane ever since; having the good sense not to allow myself to crash, all the while i’m harbouring a toy (Yes, I don’t really need an object such as this in my daily life) but realistically knowing there is a possibility of engine failure (but il keep it anyway, because i dare not forget my nice, average boyhood).
As my nostalgic tendencies continue to serve me, Is this innocent truck a stark reminder of how fragile (It still has no dents) my adulthood can be, and in the future: will very likely be, if i’m ever so lucky to be so old that i can only remember the distant past (the black box is no longer black, but now, also orange in its colour).
I Eat Let.ers 