Poem
Jen Hadfield
MELODEON ON THE ROAD HOME
MELODEON ON THE ROAD HOME
MELODEON ON THE ROAD HOME
I love your slut dog,as silent with his three print spots
as a musical primer.
He sags like a melodeon
across my spread knees.
When I dig my fingers
into the butterfly hollows
in his chest, he pushes my breasts
apart with stiff legs.
Isn’t it good
to forget you’re anything but fat
and bone? I’m telling you
it’s good to be hearing your dog’s tune
on the broad curve out of town,
a poem starting,
pattering the breathless little keys.
To see more than me, I flick
the headlamps to high beam
and it’s as if I pulled an organ stop –
black light wobbling
in the wrinkles of the road,
high angelus of trees.
© 2005, Jen Hadfield
From: Almanacs
Publisher: Bloodaxe,
From: Almanacs
Publisher: Bloodaxe,
Jen Hadfield
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1978)
Nothing is permanent in the poetry of Jen Hadfield (‘I don’t know what it is / about this place that things / metaflower so readily / into their present selves’). With a meticulous, sober gaze, she watches how everything around her sprouts and grows, buds and creeps into everything else. Her poems might be about the rugged nature in northern Shetland where she lives (‘the scrambling twig / hern...
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Poems of Jen Hadfield
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MELODEON ON THE ROAD HOME
I love your slut dog,as silent with his three print spots
as a musical primer.
He sags like a melodeon
across my spread knees.
When I dig my fingers
into the butterfly hollows
in his chest, he pushes my breasts
apart with stiff legs.
Isn’t it good
to forget you’re anything but fat
and bone? I’m telling you
it’s good to be hearing your dog’s tune
on the broad curve out of town,
a poem starting,
pattering the breathless little keys.
To see more than me, I flick
the headlamps to high beam
and it’s as if I pulled an organ stop –
black light wobbling
in the wrinkles of the road,
high angelus of trees.
From: Almanacs
MELODEON ON THE ROAD HOME
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