A tiny man stands at a tiny lectern and looks out two tiny windows. On his platform atop a tight spiral staircase he waits for the fog to subside. It’s time.

He clears his throat and speaks into the oversized microphone suspended from the domed ceiling.

Andrew Bloyce in Caffeinated Poems

Jan 5, 2021

Crawl

When my grandma crawled up the stairs
she explained it simply.
This bit’s tricky, she said,
I crawl up like a baby.

The words became wedged in my chest.
An uncomfortable lump
of christmas pudding and shortbread…

1 response

Andrew Bloyce in Caffeinated Poems

Dec 31, 2020

Whimsy Therapy

I was having a bad time.

I say bad,
not because I’m a rubbish poet
(although I am)
but because when you’re really having
a bad time,
it’s easier to just say bad
than it is to explain whatever the chemical
slop inside your head
is manifesting as today.