We are betterer then the Swiss
cause our cheese has no holes
and they need feet of snow
before they shut schools down
We are Africans that got lost
walking on water to China
and became white because
we argued with the sun
In Russia, they make cold sores
so we have to keep curtains
ironed in case they come
and make us like the poor.
Australia is made of desserts
that kangaroos jump in
but not like our puds
as they are originals
In a small Welsh town of Abergavenny,
a market was held in sight of the old Town Hall.
Being eight years old, her tears dried
by face powder and the lipstick smile,
was forgotten as the monkey danced
in fur and red cap to an old accordion
battered dull by his master’s thick fingers.
I always ignored whispers, and the sighs of told-you-so,
with made up stories that faeries made you good
like clothes from a shop, not jumble from a straw bag.
Still full of dance, I saw the toffee-apple,
brown with sweet redness, and left the monkey
as I snatched my silver pocket money coin
and ran through the vegetables:
cabbages piled high,
carrots racked on long leeks,
potatoes humped in heaps
then I turned and saw her gone, stolen like a daddy.
If I find that monkey, perhaps I’ll stop running.
Published in Poetry Atlas