Chris McCabe Poems

I put a buttercup under my chin & yellow vans go past -
some say RENEW GLASS, others SASH WINDOWS.

USB cables & leads run through my copy of Sophocles -
Oedipus : this is a sign, the pact seals my fate.
...

She woke me from a pollen sleep to tell me it would be a day of peace.

These hardships, spoke the sun, give us another chance :
the first bionic sea-creature only made the news
...

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
...

Walked four miles to give 3,000 to the estate agents.
After the wait at the east end checkout we eat
jam sandwiches in the bluebottle static of the cemetery.
The child was named Mr Schmiggles, his forefinger
...

A girl called Cody came to the desk to ask about the lexicon.
I put my black pint on the beermat marked PURITY.
Which reminded me of the state's new format to entertain the boy :
a steel toecapped boot in the animal A-Z pop-up book.
...

I couldn't get on, someone had gobbed
on each rung so there was no image-traction.

They could have been publishers or estate agents
around the table so I took the marzipan axe
...

Every counsellor needs to be counselled.

A man becomes aware of his own mind, cauliflowers glass quadrants - sees the roots - like a wet wart.
...