Pastoral

Since the flock has filled the road

you kill the engine and light up,

fastidiously lowering your window

and dangling the fag outside

as to stab the lead ram in the eye.

For all we have a ferry to hit

you seem unperturbed, perhaps relishing

the small thrill of pushing the limit

that last four miles round the lip of the bay

and down into the not-quite-encircling

hug of the harbour shore.

So we sit, staring idly into a sea fret,

while the woollen tide breaks bleating

right and left of the Saab and time slows

to the gait of the insouciant shepherd

who parades after the prow of his nose              

like a prince nobly not noticing a flaw.

(from Istantaneo di ippopotamo con banane / Snapshot of Hippo with Bananas)

Brand Loyalty 

We lounged in plastic branded chairs

under branded green umbrellas,

a terrace canting to sand and water.

It seemed all other tables were tenanted

by balded men whose t-shirts vaunted

loyalty to universities teams expeditions

none had attended played for set out hopeful

in the company of; yet, despite discrepant

fealties, tattoos were all but identical

and fat squeezed each of their eyes

in exactly the same way. One began to knell

with his knuckles on the table-top until

others took up his hymn. As the singing swelled

we abandoned our Cokes to the Pepsi tray

and slipped out by the gate marked In.

(from The Sadness of Animals)

Ridimensionare

As we get older, our faces more crumpled

and corrugated, our necks more wattled,

our morning shaves resemble a battlefield:

it’s all too easy to hack off lumps

– a way perhaps of cutting us down to size.

The Italians have a word for this:

ridimensionare – and we need periodically

to pare back to our proper dimension,

which for most of us is not noble ambition

or heroism or great love, but getting by.

 (published – bilingually – in Versodove, n.23, May 2024)