{"id":4754,"date":"2015-06-14T22:24:57","date_gmt":"2015-06-14T21:24:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=4754"},"modified":"2015-06-14T22:33:46","modified_gmt":"2015-06-14T21:33:46","slug":"three-poems-10","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=4754","title":{"rendered":"Three Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"

The Jennifer<\/strong><\/p>\n

Arthur last seen at a posh college
\ndealing ironically: first to go.
\nThe Peter who wore out his supports
\nand said, while I tried not to fidget,
\n\u201cThey\u2019ll share their words of wisdom, even
\ngive you money, but time? Not so much.\u201d
\nLouise who discovered a talent
\nfor big and dirty simulations.
\nPaula with her capital of cool.<\/p>\n

Anil who was simply the quickest.
\nThe Jennifer with contact lenses
\nwho two or three times was naturally
\ncurious to see if alcohol
\nwould go on opening up the world
\nand has never remembered slurring,
\n\u201cWE are going to be girlz forEVVA,\u201d
\nstretched out on the back seat of the bus.
\nSome years down the track her speech is crisp:<\/p>\n

\u201cJesus, I can\u2019t even shit in peace.\u201d
\nAnd: \u201cThey\u2019re all so frank and generous
\nwith advice, but not with help, as such.\u201d
\nThen she chuckles and is on her feet
\nbefore I hear the crying begin.
\nThe ghost of a netted mango tree
\npresiding over her concrete yard.
\nA festive mist of katydid clinks.
\nThe Ken who played the harp. Bright Arthur.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 
\n
\nBright Edge<\/strong><\/p>\n

Colour-fast guerrilla knitting fades.
\nOctober again: koels are calling,
\ngradually upping pitch and volume
\nlike a child strategically ignored.
\nIs Misty the ferret still missing?
\nA man in a chalk-white shirt steps out
\nbetween a pair of lions
\n(their eyes carefully made up with a texta),
\nonto a slew of sodden flyers:<\/p>\n

\u201cNo commute. No overheads. NO BOSS.\u201d
\nA hot October: brain-shaped spaces
\nof almost supernatural purple
\nloom over roofs with the odd blue tile.
\nAt the door ajar behind him still
\na small hand is waved. He steps across
\na springy strip of buffalo grass
\nscattered with bat-handled mandarins
\nto the musical space of his car.<\/p>\n

With a child on the cusp of babble
\nand a parent falling back on \u201cthing,\u201d
\nwhy would he wonder when he last thought,
\nBut if I went round speaking frankly
\nI\u2019d be out of a job pretty soon.<\/em>
\nA wattlebird startled by the whoop
\nshakes a brace of droplets down on him.
\nThin shocks of casuarina needles
\nand a bright edge of cloud overhead.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 
\n
\nDinky File<\/strong>
\nI\u2019m warning you now: it could happen.
\nSo many stronger, brighter young things
\nset forth gaily, sure of possessing
\nsome kind of indomitable core.
\nThey thought irony would protect them.
\nHow could they not underestimate
\nwhat time would do with its dinky file?
\nBut how could they have reached the front door,
\nknowing they were beaten already?<\/p>\n

If it happens, there will be no time.
\nDon\u2019t even think about gathering
\na few treasured possessions. Just go.
\nForget the black-and-white photograph
\nof a girl stroking a dog long gone
\nin a garden buried by cement
\nin a country that doesn\u2019t exist.
\nThe red tape reduction committee
\nis debating its terms of reference.<\/p>\n

I need a KPI to measure
\nprogress towards my personal goal
\nof caring less what the big man thinks.
\nIf I use the word impactful<\/em>, if
\nI give up the long and subtle art
\nof disappointing, if I forget
\ncurriculum\u2019s a diminutive,
\nit means I\u2019ve already been bitten
\nand there\u2019s nothing anyone can do.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Jennifer Arthur last seen at a posh college dealing ironically: first to go. The Peter who wore out his supports and said, while I tried not to fidget, \u201cThey\u2019ll share their words of wisdom, even give you money, but time? Not so much.\u201d Louise who discovered a talent for big and dirty simulations. Paula […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":123,"featured_media":4872,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[320,322],"tags":[324],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nThree Poems - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=4754\" \/>\n<link rel=\"next\" href=\"http:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=4754&page=2\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Three Poems - The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The Jennifer Arthur last seen at a posh college dealing ironically: first to go. 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