Sunday, 31 October 2010

Adrian Henri poem

Poem based on Adrian Henri cut up - written Dec 09 - need help editing!


In the morning I drove home

without windscreen wipers

in the rain.

It didn't matter,

I knew that motorway.

It's where I hid from you.


It got boring then,

you didn't look.


I chased you all round London

on red buses with thick gloves that slid

into my handbag

one by one.

I asked for you in that tight outdoors

where smokers squeeze, clubbing.


There was a girl at school who walked

with her neck high

and I used to walk behind her

to see her shoulder blades beat, a metronome.


Green cardigan, white collar blouse, and the

grace of old eras.


How dare you make eyes at me

with your girlfriend sitting by you.


My heart can't quite believe you're real.

All the chasing, chasing, and then I threw you

to the ground and you giggled and I held you.


A Christmas Cactus almost in bloom.

A coffee cup held like a lady.

Fingers move firmly on strings.

American lady falls.


Birds fly in thick dark formation

Entertaining weary eco-troops.

I eat the chocolate Father Christmas one

tooth-bite at a time, making you last.

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