We should prepare for arguments,

Lay down the tablecloth,

And silently place the cutlery

In exactly the right place.

We should serve each other’s food

And eat with our hands,

Pick at the chicken,

Maul the potatoes.

We should then wipe our mouths

With the tablecloth and begin.

Perfect

Perfect

You are so perfect

When you kick them the leaves flit to the trees,

Look back to you and applaud.

You are so perfect

Branches part in forests to share sunshine,

Squirrels watch you between acorns,

Foxes wake.

You are so perfect

Your winter coat buttons itself and hugs your heart,

Library books unfurl on tables, stretch

And wait for you to walk past.

Fast winter wind daren’t touch you

But can’t help brush your hair.

You are so perfect

Rivers have built their own bridges,

Knowing that one day you’ll walk across them –

Just to catch your reflection they left a pile of stones for you to throw.

And the waves carry each stone to the bed, count them,

Look up at you and applaud.

You are so perfect

Traffic lights time themselves days before you arrive,

So your stride won’t be broken and the cars can rest,

And the world can stop.

A table outside the café lays itself to the waiter’s amazement,

Knowing that a man will stop for a coffee,

Knowing that you will walk past at 3.30 p.m.,

And he’d been waiting for you all of his life too.

Gambian Holiday Maker

Gambian Holiday Maker

I

Want

You

To

Know

How

Stupid

You

Sound

When

You

Talk

To

Us

Like

This

Listener

Listener

And if you were the evaporating tears

Then I would be the developing cloud.

There, the sound of rain,

The sound of the between-us sea,

The shingle shore gently fills our footsteps.

I have searched for you my entire life.

We have stood on opposite shores,

Listening to under-sea wails.

No translations as yet, but this.

I lie upon the earth-floor

As a lion might in deep dusk-sun.

Here I hear all the footsteps of the world

Reverberate in the beneath-me rocks,

Trying to find your first-person singular steps,

Trying to find a sentence in a history.

But the needle glints in the golden haystack

Of dawn; at the same time a strike of sunlight

Lances its eye. The world is smaller,

The larger my knowledge – still.

Standing, I hear the sun rise,

Not the birds of morning nor the cock crowing.

The cars coughing, the footsteps of early workers

Muffled in the red dust trudging through sleepless mystery,

But I hear the actual sun rising.

And as a sea can turn to dust before the eyes

I hear you through the sand storm – the needle!

Slow running from the red terror,

Arms wide to protect yourself or welcome me,

Feet dragging through sand and globules of blood,

Burning in the heatwave, wiping hot sand from your face,