Three poems by Mark Mayes
Are you a Dog?
A small tin of condensed milk
rolls away across the carpet.
You have done this.
The tin is red
with a white teddy bear on,
and patterns you will later know
as words.
As you crawl,
your fingers sink in
to the first knuckle.
The tin is far away,
under the table.
The carpet rubs your knees and shins.
The tin is getting bigger.
From another room
comes a voice you recognise.
And a laugh you recognise.
There is a clinking sound.
The room is not dark, not light.
It is changing.
It is good to be alone here,
following the teddy on the tin.
An Abandoned Game
In a postage-stamp garden,
your arm about my waist.
You said: look how I’ve shrunk.
Sad line mouth and smile.
Daily terrors for now denied.
Step out of the photo – won’t you?
Shimmer back to your print-stained chair.
We could play Scrabble till the film begins,
leave the board till morning.
Tell me about your scrumping days,
stale madeleines.
Summer excursions
to the high heath wood.
Once you gripped my hand
at an awkward angle,
said sorry son – sorry
I’m a bloody fool.
Lost Horizons
At the edge of her world
lies the threshold of sense.
At the loss of blue hills
lives a shadow sun.
What pulses between
our touching skin?
As the blood is diluted
till the water runs clear.
As a voice fades
till the whisper cannot move dust.
In the estate of the breath
meaning decomposes.
When our eyes meet
our faces refract endlessly.