2010/08/20 Superspy Poem by Margaret Alice

I keep the James Bond superspy feeling alive
in the open-plan office by carrying dishwashing
liquid in a small fifty ml bottle of Smirnoff after
dutifully drinking the vodka shaken not stirred

James Bond has become a myth, created by Ian
Fleming; when a dedicated modernist declared
he could never understand the enchantment the
general public found in this wonderful superspy

I was mystified by so much ignorance or worse:
such lack of ability to enter an anthropocentric
universe where all factors are engineered to be
at the ready to facilitate James Bond’s success

Napoleon once said he looked for the ability to
attract lucky circumstances when appointing a
general, in the 007 adventures James Bond’s
luck factor must be over a hundred per cent

Though his expertise in various skills improves
the chances of realizing his luck by as much
also, it is his charismatic presence, laissez-
faire attitude and stiff-upper-lip insouciance

That constitute the most attractive aspects of
this myth for me, I love it that the number 007
appears in my identity, it used to appear twice
before ID numbers were changed, but once

is enough, I have seen myself as a secret agent
in my mind’s eye since primary school, playing at
being James Bond himself not one of the female
characters, yet a female Bond just does not work

Now I am my own spy using Ian Fleming’s cast as
inspiration only, I think I am Tiffany Aching*, a witch
under Granny Weatherwax, the Discworld equivalent
of M, and Nanny Ogg as Q, maybe…


*Terry Pratchett “A Hat Full of Sky”