"Locale": a poem by Simon Smith

Sign Up

Get the New Statesman's Morning Call email.

locale lyric & all the ls
a shell where a mollusc dwells
worn almost flat

then after the beach & marina
I imagine the troopships & minesweepers
were they painted zig-zag black & white to confuse

later hauling nine kilos of gold
curtain the damp halfway up
down the street all the way to “Paris” for dry cleaning

next text – see-you-afternoon-or-evening-Thursday
don’t be wobbly be lovely

This article appears in the 01 July 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Brazil erupts