Sunday, 27 September 2009

Untimely #9 - Read/Broad

Road
A couple are watching Crash under the Westway. Above them, cars plummet out of the sunset towards the city, two by two by four, hot metal tracings of a concrete arc.
The couple are parked on the tarmac island of the gyratory that snakes between the cages and pitches and the towering stanchions that thrust the flyover forward. Their vehicle is resting within focal range of the dull surface of the column that supports the apex of the grey parabola. It stands perpendicular to the black expanse upon which their car sits, scrubbed with weeds and packets. A thin crack daggers down the pillar, emerging from the underbelly of the track, forking and hairpinning to terminate at the focal point of the couple’s flickering lightshow.
The couple have rigged up a projector, powered by wires that tendril from a stray yellow generator, which beams a stammering image across the pillar’s plane.
Light, unchained, stings off the sharp edges, casts and reels in the shadow, clots over the windscreen, hums over the fleshy bumps and hollows of the couple’s heads and bodies. They watch alone, unwatching, unseen. And as each car rockets overhead the image on the makeshift screen jags and buckles with the rhythm of transit, like an imperfect mirror.
Bread
This is a poem I wrote whilst drunk in 2004.
When don’t you need
Music?
I haven’t got a clue what it is about
Which is half of its magic.
I let it play
Whatever it is
It just reminds me of things
Like
Right now
Just now
Talking to Jos
About Sandwiches.
Which reminds me
I need to go and make a sandwich
Cheese and ham
(Ham not of the pig but of the Turk)
I like to think I have a secret recipe.
Bread on toastie machine
Then ham on bread
Then cheese on ham
And it all comes down to that last make or break bread slice.
Spread mayonnaise on the bread
And then the secret ingredient
MUSTARD!!!!
Magic.
Put it all together and
Toast til it makes noise
And the light clunks off.
Eat carefully
Magic.

1 comment:

  1. Hi Ralph Waldo Emerson,

    This is Boris Johnson. Fix me an upper, would you, please? Hold the mayo - or, at least, do your fucking best to. It will likely escape. I am a human kind of guy, a sort of a gorilla terroris. Erasmus Darwin called me a "bioloquist" which is another word for "car".

    Rank me!

    Cute Thumb Icon, rampant,

    x

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