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2004 competition
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Poetry
 
2004 competition: Highly commended (6 of 11)
 

Liberation parallelepiped

Dropping death on the (other) man’s child: so brightly
a father’s job for Darwin’s sons: Gene’s will. But not
cleanly, like a lion pissed by alien scents cracks
the necks of his wordless cousin’s cubs with gum-shod
blades drip-trickling antiseptic drool, breathlessly
attended by five or six brand-new brides of short
memory and of prime, if little, present choice.
No,

no, no. We’re no impulsive, tufted tail-waving
executioners: we’re human kings, for God’s sake!
We have i-ma-gi-na-tion, and manners. There are
so many manners. You will learn them. For a start,
let’s hear you sing a pretty thank you to our braves:
the boys whose hearts, minds, beliefs, and occasional
little bums the money State raped while-U-waited,
purely for personal pleasure of course and/or
training purposes (delete as appropriate).
We are bringing you our bold, spirited songs, hic!
excuse me, ci-vi-li-za-tion, and mobile phones
at a discount. You get to choose the ring tune, so...

what about the Westminster song? Go on! Listen:
... ThankyouThankyou... ThankyouThankyou... ThankyouThankyou...
THA-A-ANNK! YOUuUuUu! THA-A-ANNK! YOUuUuUu!

And we don’t expect our women to fetch or hunt:
we are free human kings: you will toil for us, ’cause
look: its the embrassing truth trooth we’ve right forgot ’ow.
We’re flogging Brits! For God’s own sake. You do, we flog,
you buy. Hey,

we’ve polished our metal wings for the swarming. Hear
how we roar under your sun! Oh we do love to
have fun, all is fun, what a laugh, chill! Yes, indeed,
these are St George-crossed crotches which we shake at you
(wildly) in dickdiggingup land. We’re awfully
pleased with your police, they’ve behaved themselves so far.
Hello? I’m in the bomber! I’ll see you soon. What?
Liberation Square. No, don’t worry, you can’t miss me.

Now will you scrape my new pavement clean of your cubs
before they start to smell? I’ll help, don’t mention it.
nothing personal you realize, so let’s be
quite civilized about this: will you marry us?


Mary Millard