Poem
Chris McCabe
LEMON BLUE
LEMON BLUE
LEMON BLUE
We grabbed the handles of the shimmering zimmer of chance –someone offered a box of matches called LEMON BLUE
from the stall that sold flint wheels attached to plastic steps
ridged to a range of coloured cylinders of gas. I cursed
my sloped brother of history – why hadn’t he copyrighted
fire? Then came a text to say he was with whiskey & dancing
to light. I placed the phone face down on the Las Vegas
beermat, on the albino feline that never made Top Cat.
So I said to the one with only numbers behind their thoughts :
Give me something cloned to sell, to profit the sons of my only son.
© 2008, Chris McCabe
Publisher: First published on PIW,
Publisher: First published on PIW,
Chris McCabe
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1977)
Chris McCabe was born in Liverpool in 1977, grew up there and studied for a degree in Literary Studies at the University of Central Lancashire in Preston. He moved to London when he was twenty-four, and now works as a Joint Librarian at the Poetry Library on the South Bank. He has published poems in a number of places including Poetry Salzburg Review, Shearsman, Magma and Poetry Review. His f...
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Poems of Chris McCabe
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LEMON BLUE
We grabbed the handles of the shimmering zimmer of chance –someone offered a box of matches called LEMON BLUE
from the stall that sold flint wheels attached to plastic steps
ridged to a range of coloured cylinders of gas. I cursed
my sloped brother of history – why hadn’t he copyrighted
fire? Then came a text to say he was with whiskey & dancing
to light. I placed the phone face down on the Las Vegas
beermat, on the albino feline that never made Top Cat.
So I said to the one with only numbers behind their thoughts :
Give me something cloned to sell, to profit the sons of my only son.
LEMON BLUE
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