HAUNTED LOAF a poem by Chris McCabe

She woke me from a pollen sleep to tell me it would be a day of peace.

These hardships, spoke the sun, give us another chance :
the first bionic sea-creature only made the news
because it got caught in a crab trap.

All that matrix blah of advice – but sometimes
uncles become uncles younger than their nephews.

The Question disarmed us : what were windmills for?
We worked backwards through every loaf we’d ever known
– best of boths, crustless, square – to find the answer.

Outside the democracy of the urinals was a box called

                        DRY RECYCABLES

so with love we clipped the baby’s nails to nano-crescents
to help the gnats believe they could reach the moon.

by Chris McCabe (UK) from Poetry International Web