Imagine if everything
did what it was supposed to do.
This does exactly what it says on the tin.
Ronseal style.
A pager would emit
a series of bleeps
to inform someone
that someone else
wants to contact them.
A journalist would emit
a series of reports
to inform people.
A poet would write poems
and leave the reporting
to the journalists.
In this poem
a young girl in Lebanon
picks up her father’s pager
from the kitchen table
and it explodes,
mangling her face,
making it the worst Picasso.
In a journalist’s report
the young girl is a footnote
to a tale of a tactical
victory,
a spectacular coup,
an opening salvo
with audacious weapons.
I have never known a pager
be described in such terms before.
Sometimes I think I should stop
being a poet
then I remember
that while journalists
are writing poetry
there’s more chance
of another young girl
picking up
her nose
or her eyes
from the kitchen table
so I write this
explosive
yet harmless
poem.
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