Peter Sirr

Two Poems


These aisles of unlikeness
a kind of perfection
as if here we might be, when it’s all over,
walking through fields of Lidl finding

among the lawnmowers and beetroots
what we always half knew we half needed
but blind to the instinct and quelling desire
yet failed to achieve

and this is what carried through:
how we moved, mixing and matching
forests and plums, steamers, toys,
the mutilated flickering on a screen,

dawdling through it all, filling our arms
with what we found,
unlikeness our element, our prayers
the trundling of trolleys in the aisles.


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