Philip Hammial Poems
|1.||A Delivery Van||5/8/2012|
|15.||Honeymoon, Day Two||5/8/2012|
Comments about Philip Hammial
Home alone, late at night, doing what I always do. I’m rowing. Sitting on my kitchen chair, chained to an oar, I’m one of a hundred slaves making sure that the galley keeps moving forward through a sea that is sometimes calm, sometimes raging. Forward, to that distant port where, so rumour has it, we’ll be set free, at long last, after all these years. The others, my brothers in chains, sitting in chairs in their own kitchens in this huge sprawl of public housing, rowing ceaselessly, with a strength they didn’t know they possessed.
How much further? How many more days? It can’t ...
A Delivery Van
In the middle of the intersection of the Rue de Seine & the Rue de Buci a van stops & the driver, taking his sweet time despite the pile up of traffic, loads several cases of bottles onto his trolley & wheels them into the Bar du Marche. About twenty sheep (a flock of sheep in the middle of Paris?) moving slowly up the Rue de Buci, approach the van