Sport 22: Autumn 1999
We wondered if he would like us to pour boiling water
shklovsky shklovsky over leaves sewn up in paper.
We sat on slices of trees joined together at right angles
and the men crossed their legs at right angles
and the ladies laid their legs together like slices of bread.
Shklovsky shklovsky our skirts and trousers said.
After the bread the Roses were handed around.
Now here was something we all could understand.
You crowned for a very long time, you know.
You paused poised at the threshold.
You stopped at the end of me.
Then I was cut and you tore out of me
like a sob. You were a bubble of air
bigger than my lungs, quite round.
I just pushed once and you surfaced in an instant.
Hauled out of the pool by the midwife
you were suddenly solid on me
like a little round rock above sea-level,
still slippery wet in mid-air
on my midriff.
Little prince, little toad.