The Nancy Walton Pringle Memorial Prize
Some help please. Something maybe smooth.
A pudding? The cover of a Yes album?
Brick top. Flag pole. Faces.
Unasked for dream.
My glass is half dirty half clean.
The traffic is big getting bigger.
I have perfectly normal hearing.
This means I do not listen.
If you ever called me I would be happy.
But you don’t call me. I’m still happy
but sometimes I am sad because you don’t.
It’s okay because we look at each other
through the television.
The shows you watch I watch.
We’re on the same page.
We’re onto the same page.
But we’re not. Tic toc
across the plastic street
is the curious circus and the name
you gave away. In the ring a cyclist
goes round and round. A room exists
on the bicycle. In that room robotic
cinephiles speaking gear ratio and crankset
discuss the finer points of a shock
offering. The word codex sounds funny coming
out of their grilled and blinking mouths.
The dog looks up at me from the couch.