Our New Carpet's The Colour Of...
a rainbow slurry, but not the cleaved white of rainbow light; it's
a charcoal and goethite rainbow; a Pleistocene pigment pit;
an ochre shindig greased on a rock ceiling. Bog ore brown say;
possibly snuffsnot. We chose brown so it wouldn't show tea slops.
Nat can't knit without a pattern or play without sheet music
or assemble flat-packed furniture without instructions. She
can cook without a recipe but only to please herself.
Keith ate a kipper. Descaled, gutted, smoked, tinned and masticated,
he thought it was dead. Later when he leant it leapt, still fresh!
He swallowed to quash the herring's dissent. It will swim again.
All winter Cracticus Magpie croons ‘Come September'. Each Spring
he sings his defence as persuasively as Caractacus.
He'd like to split my skull to extract the word which skulks inside.
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Comments about this poem (Our New Carpet's The Colour Of... by Diane Hine )
Did you read them?
- this day, sheade rudman
- Love Always, Saturday Chikezie Promise
- Smile Not For All, Savita Tyagi
- Life with you, Saturday Chikezie Promise
- Love for OLUEBUBE, Saturday Chikezie Promise
- Broken Dreams, Saturday Chikezie Promise
- My mattress, Nassy Fesharaki
- أولوية, مالك حداد
- Finding Self, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- سأهبك غزالة, مالك حداد
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