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 ...
Windowkins
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’.
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