Hi Christina,
A simple piece of reportage that works well IMHO. Oh, how much skill is
there in such a piece? Plenty! Sometimes a poem just needs to say things
simply, capture the seemingly bizzare jumble of how things appear, and it
says such powerful things!
I like it. (Somehow the allusions between bowels and food and hospitals
seems, horribly, to work for me! Yeurgh!)
Bob






>From: Christina Fletcher <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub:  Unblocked
>Date: Sat, 12 Apr 2003 11:49:09 EDT
>
>Hello all, sorry not to have had time to contribute lately.  I've just
>about
>mustered the energy for the first draft of a pome so I hope you don't mind
>if
>I post it.
>bw
>christina
>
>
>
>             Unblocked
>
>             They said an hour.  I waited three, wondering
>             if they crack jokes like plumbers when sinks choke
>             or basements flood with sewage and conversation
>             drifts to sump pump cycle puns or pipes, blocked
>             since the old pope died. Or maybe,
>             in that disconnected way, they discuss lunch:
>             canteen custard skin, limp lettuce.
>
>             Then there were sounds - whispers, clicking heels,
>             trolley wheels - skid marks on squeaky lino,
>             masked faces peering down, 'You're alright now:
>             we're taking you back to the ward.'
>             And you, not knowing who or where you were, muttered,
>             '...like a sausage on the butcher's block...'
>
>
>
>
>            christina fletcher


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