NaPoWriMo - 2021 - XVIII - And as she...

 And as she...

...starts to sprint she pulls her self,
one foot sticking
slightly, out of time -- the external world slowing
between one footfall and the next --
as Einstein takes his cut.  She annotates

her future path with tense thought and big, square
[brackets] to show where she will go,
years of relativistic combat practice mapping
how she'll pass, barely noticing, through plate glass
and continue
via the eighteen-inch gap between two trucks
which would be crashing
if time dilation left them time to move.

The world ahead is going blue
as she -a-c-c-e-l-e-r-a-t-e-s- and she can see
the gun, rising.  She's going to be too late but again she
faster now than ever before, and she cannot see
in ultraviolet
but she already knows where everything is and how she is
-- in front of the motorbike and behind the limousine --
leaving a tunnel in the air which collapses behind her
with the voice of a titan.
Through the other window --

and now she is in the bank, among the gang,
balaclavas, weapons, bad minds;
normally she'd be flooring goons
at this point
or flicking biros from the desks towards heads
which would snap back
when hit by cheap office supplies
doing multiples of speed of sound
but she has only one target now

so close
a gun, horribly wrongly, pointing
at the only thing in the world which matters;
she might make it
-- might tear that hand off at the wrist,
or maybe swat the bullet in its flight--
or she might not
and if she is too late,
she simply will not brake, but run

into the side of the armoured vault
like a comet with a grudge --
scour everything back down to the bedrock
give the ants their chance -- and choose
not to live on in such a haunted world

of which there is nothing left now
except a man, a gun, a girl
and the need
to *a*c*c*e*l*e*r*a*t*e*.


NaPoWriMo - 2021 - XVII - Temporary arrangements

Temporary arrangements

In the attic
as I trip on the juggling balls
I found in a box
and put to one side thinking
your youngest might like them
but I trip and knock
my mother's dressmaking dummy
with my old raincoat on it
and the summer hat
which you wore
for that fortnight in Devon
and it knocks the wardrobe so
the box of gloves and scarfs fall on it
and peacock-like it wears them all
and in it's continuing
it glances off
the box file of old documents
which I was idly leafing through
a moment ago
but the dummy has them now
trying to fill them in
with an arm made from an umbrella
and a biro that's got caught
up somehow in the lace
of the ancient handkerchief
with which it mops its brow
and in its decline
it leafs through old photographs
points at a burry figure
asking: Was this Clive?
and I in all honesty do not know
but the dummy continues
to go through the air
and the motions
as it briefly plays a game of Ker Plunk (tm)
picks Dad's old harmonica
but thankfully attempts no tune
and now it's leafing through
a stack of old poetry magazines
holding one out, open,
pointing with the biro
as if to say
that it could write a better effort any day
and the collapse now nearing its end
it clips
my sister's old talking doll
Are you my Mummy?
but it's far too late
for that.

NaPoWriMo - 2021 - XVI - Unmake


Undo; undo; undo;
unspin the planet; undawn the day; unturn
the season; unproduce the play; unsing all songs,
we're out of time and key; unknow those few
close friends, whether platonic or carnally;
undo; undo; undo;
regress your life and lives; things
you must unsay; undo; undo;
this is all wrong; unbind the electrons; deorbit the moon;
unburn the stars; decolonise the new world; disinhabit Mars;
unsummon the demon;  undo; undo; undo;
I can't be having with this.