Each month Influx Press is featuring a contemporary poet you might not know but definitely should.
by Jennifer Cooke
here’s space punctured by skin where the linear races off tragic stories of a wanted self in Tescos noting codes or best befores the tracks there, meat running, soft pads ludicrous in aisles narrowed for hunting down sacheted emotions-for-one this id falls in the gap between civic art meets the drunk and both have something to say, yes, to each other, yes, this is
a fluted moment in precincts flickering of betrayals we sing wraps away me again shrinking and, breathe the cheese shop sign, breathe there’s Boots, oh, gains harden into paved passages duffed up and strangers are sudden and right fearful in the out placebos branded in blood-pumping force sidelooks of dislike reflecting me in many mannequined glasses
quick, there’s an apophatic quiz at the Brush Social Club a meat raffle for women who don’t own a thing from Ikea inching the animals out of market with cellophane-tightened muzzles while I is dreaming of spring onions growing from my scalp in a warehouse of chilled fruit there are busy plasma screens waxy-faced little slogans peep from boxes abroad, smuglike
empty they line canals awaiting youth and the dead fish so I say to the Booby Nymph “I think you should see someone, it might help” but I know he knows it’s no good because he just fell into the first sludge that caught his eye, camp stool and all. I can’t save him from his high street standards, I can’t love the animals because a tiger’s only perfect on TV, which it takes 369 months to yearn
with pretty hooves in your neon dessert eat more and wonder on jelly’s fat content, the least of its problems I’ve heard the singing is worsening in what looks outside every town like Asda but is more like footprints or stains. Closing down the shopped dreams and emptying the pubs not by force, oh no, by a boredom akin to waiting for a catch a pull a tug a faint sign of a
Jennifer Cooke is a senior lecturer in English at Loughborough University.
This poem was published in her first collection Not Suitable For Domestic Sublimation (London 2012) from Contraband Press.