Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Ascension Island

I’m running out of paper. I’m running out of words.
Words run off the paper like egg whites into the sink.
Cook’s hands separate the words from the paper
And discard them. Cook’s hands use the yolks

To make lunch for workers on yellow bulldozers.
Yellow bulldozers level the black, volcanic sand of Ascension Island
To build the air strip and later the golf course. Ascension Island does not exist,
Or Ascension Island does exist and its main export is stamps.

Cook does not exist, or Cook does exist and his fat, black head
is very fat and very black against the glossy white tile of the kitchen.
Cook’s fat head is thinking: I am running out of eggs.
Cook’s fat head is thinking: I am running out of pepper.

If Cook runs out of eggs there will be no lunch for the workers
And the yellow bulldozers will eventually stop running.
If Cook runs out of pepper the black volcanic sand
Will not be levelled to build the airstrip

And Ascension Island will eventually sink
Into the South Atlantic, making for a single moment
A gap in the Gulf of Guinea
For the waves to smooth over.


Blogger anon said...

nice, nice, nice

12:55 pm  
Blogger Mikkel said...

Thank you.

1:54 pm  
Blogger Mikkel said...

I think you're the only one who enjoys my poetry as much as I do. Sad that I must be so misunderstood in my own time.

5:19 pm  

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