Because it is warm in India.

Because they have rickshaws in India.

Because there are pomegranates in India.

Because in my head I have the picture of a woman
eating the seeds of a pomegranate with a pin,
like bright red rubies, she has
red nails and red lips.

Because it will help me explore my identity.

Because Buddhism was founded in India, in 500 B.C.

Because Jews and Christians have lived continuously in India,
since 200 B.C and 52 A.D, respectively.

Because I will be able to take lots of photographs.

Because Gandhi came from India.

Because Algebra, Trigonometry and Calculus all came from India.

Because it will give me a new angle on things.

Because India is famous for yoga (and I was once quite flexible).

Because my ex-best friend is from India and going there will remind me to make up with her.

Because it will give me something to talk about with my hairdresser.

Because I live in Leicester.

Because India has an extensive railway network.

Because the total distance covered by it’s
fourteen-thousand-three-hundred trains
everyday, equals, three and a half times
the distance to moon.

Because it will be a start.

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Zombie Land (third draft)

October 13, 2012

Beatrix Potter won’t potter anymore
she’ll simply drag her feet and moan,

Peter Rabbit’s caught in the head lights,
one of big ears, ears is gone.

The day the zombies came to town
everyone pretended they’d gone away,

Tom and Jerry went to heaven
and then came back
in one of fifty
shades of grey.

The shopping centres are imploding,
the library’s surrounded,
the gallery’s closed,

pound shops are glowing
with electrical silence,
the ward is a crime scene,
blood on the walls.

The day the zombies came to town
they came wearing dresses and suits of grey,
they came absent minded with sleep in their sachels,
reaching out arms with sledgehammer grace.

One Nation, relation
Dizrali migration,
we’re in it together,

the zombies said.

We’re changing Britain,
the plan’s been written
and everyone’s in it
alive or dead.

The zombies of Fleet Street are coming to get you.
The zombies of High Street are laying you low.
Zombies in the home and zombies in the city.
Zombies in the closet, zombies on the news.

The zombies of parliament are slack jawed and mumbling
The zombies are pacing the corridors of law
The dead things have risen, to feed on the living

a necessary sacrifice
in times of austerity
a forfeit of many
to provide for the few.

The zombies are walking into the theatre
The zombies are stumbling into the school
The zombies are taking an axe to the bus stop
and they want their pound of flesh from you.

Christopher Rob-n
has lost an eye.

Squirrel Nutkin’s
skinned alive.

Jemima’s gone mad
but the refuge is gone.

Consumers are massing.
The zombies are sacking.
The benefits are lacking
and work, is scarce.

Zombie Land

October 12, 2012

Beatrix Potter won’t potter anymore,
she’ll simply drag her feet and moan.

Peter Rabbit’s caught in the head lights,
one of big ears, ears is gone.

The day the zombies came to town
everyone pretended they’d gone away.

Tom and Jerry went to heaven
and came back
with hand grenades.

The shopping centres are imploding,
the library’s surrounded,
the gallery’s closed,

pound shops are glowing
with electrical silence.
The hospital’s a crime scene,
with blood on the walls.

The day the zombies came to town,
they came wearing dresses and suits of grey,
they came absent minded with sleep in their satchels,
reaching out arms with sledgehammer grace.

The zombies of Fleet Street are coming to get you.
The zombies of High Street are laying you low.
Zombies in the house and zombies in the cellar.
Zombies in the system, zombies on the news.

The zombies of parliament are slack jawed and mumbling.
The zombies are walking in the corridors of law.
The dead things have risen, to feed on the living.

Christopher Rob-n
has lost an eye;

the benefits are lacking
work is scarce.

Last Night

October 11, 2012

You – are my sugar lump,
my spark in the dark, prairie flower;
my swamp duck, blue cheese,
zombie killing marauding fiend.

You’re my Monday, Tuesday, Sunday week
at the knees and in the feet.
Last night I dreamt I tried to kill you.

You’re my chickadee,
sweet pea, sweetheart, honey,
baby, darling, poppet,
hug-a-lug.

My sun, my moon, my stars, my rain;
Baby; last night I dreamt I tried to kill you again.