Working initially from a prompt at the Poetry School, starting with list poems, this strange creature then took on other guises and emerged as this short poem. I'm still trying to figure out what it means ...
These cute little pieces of glass
staying put in the screen even when
the small saloon car’s bonnet stares
back on itself, and she sits there
with only a streak of blood coming from
her nose, shocked but not broken.
She doesn’t smile, doesn't repeat,
‘You cute little windowkins’.