Luke Samuel Yates

Two Poems

Some Whales

He is still wearing shorts and flip-flops in the office
although summer ended for good
three years ago now
because it also wanted him to stop.
He eats his soup like his bowl is a teat.
He drives a small Japanese car with a high seating position.
He has an ergonomic mouse
and an ergonomic keyboard
to allow his body to type tilted at the angle
the human form was designed to type at.
His feet make a slapping sound as he walks about the office
like the sea licking a pier, but what
would a sea need to print
anyway? More shells?
Seagrass, for the small fish
to play football in their bare feet?





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