M&S

This isn’t just any poem
This is a choice selection
Of carefully-constructed words... and sounds
Consonants and vowels
Hand-picked individually and wrapped in subtle nuances
With the faint drizzle of the aroma of time-soaked metaphor

This isn’t just any poem
This is a sensual poem, an essential poem
A full carbohydrate slice of deviance, devised under the influence

This isn’t just any poem
This is a love poem
And a like poem
A war poem and a hate poem
An angry... an irate poem
All neatly hand-rolled into one delicious bite-sized morsel

You could even call this a latino poem, compa’y
Pa’ que sepa’ que esto no es simplemente un poema


This isn’t just any poem
This is one of them posh poems, one of them clever poems
That’s meant to tap-dance around your head
And Riverdance around your ears
This poem was designed to entertain you
And then lure you into a false sense of complacent comfortableness
So that, finally, I can talk to you about just desserts
And the disturbing trends in this world of crème brûlée:

Babies, marinated underneath rocket attacks
Left to soak in the stale sauce of their own blowtorched mothers
Or how about this?
Young men, still, left to sweat it out in their orange jumpsuit skins
Serving time (still) unknown
And something else you should never try at home
But nevertheless still happens right here inside our very own kitchens
Young children left to simmer in detention centres for months, pending their exportation

But adding all of these raw, random, sour ingredients to the mix at such a late stage
Would prove undoubtedly unsettle the stomach
And would prove to be virtually indigestible
So, for the moment, I would like to declare this poem
Utterly unsuitable for consumption