“The Good Morrow”: a poem by Jack Underwood

I’m not sure I remember what we did
before we LOVED. Were we gherkins bobbing
in our harmless jars, with vinegar and seeds?
Or were we stuffed in a tube of sleep for years?
Probably; but that kind of life is carbohydrate.
If I enjoyed anything then it was feeling FULL.

The rover is making dust-ladder tracks on Mars.

The Victorian sewers have been overhauled, widened.

And here we both are, up-and-dressed.

But it’s intimidating isn’t it

when cack-handed LOVE is at his console,

nuking all life beyond this tenuous room.

I’m going to rely heavily on you, out there.