Balloon helicopter & We'll cross that off then
by Rupert Loydell
[ poetry - july 09 ]
Balloon helicopter
I came away with the book on art
but no poetry or prose.
It wasn't like I remembered,
there used to be more of it,
and it was better made.
On the street corners buskers sang
and there were several bookshops,
blue sky over the cathedral.
The sunshine here is normally
filtered through the mist or rain
and it gets dark earlier than I am used to.
I have several escape routes planned
but the buses do not always run on time
and the blessings of xmas do not arrive.
I want to retire into warmth and light,
get regular pay with regular meals;
I think everything should be ordered.
Why is the moon out during the day?
Is it an example of imagination in practice
or global warming in action?
There is no stopping it now,
the scribbled line proceeds.
It is raining yesterday's clouds,
is not what I have described at all.
We'll cross that off then
Slug rising late in the morning,
money melts from the bank account
as bloodthirsty characters from the resistance
apologise for what will follow.
They just want to repeat what they see,
puzzle at the performance of the world.
The reconstruction of historical events
is my favourite part of the book.
Voice control and unlimited editions
scale down the intervention;
one-sided interviews
are the least you can do.
Talk it up or take it down,
I am toppling off the page
in a convulsion of words.
Don't look down. I won't be long.
