Make sure you catch him full flow,
mid-rage, with that fat flung spittle
half way through the air, freeze him,
pick him up. Don't worry! You can move
now put him in a box-room
in any city. Cup his dry hand
around any pert tit living
under flannel or silk.
Perhaps he's especially
attracted to Koreans,
and every time he hardens
at the thought of one
you must punish him -
pull at one of his hangnails.
and back to another box-room
in any city, his dry hands
around a looser woman,
(the camera hasn't moved
he doesn't think it ever will)
make him cry, give him liver-spots,
drape creeping, tufty down
over his shoulder. Make him impotent
which makes him cry
meaning those cool breasts rise,
petal curved and smooth, halting
at his forehead. Make her rake his scalp
in pity, have her roll her eyes
and check the time and her wallet.
Have fun with him! But don't hate him,
understand that he eats alone
and this is why he shouts so sadly.
Rachael Allen's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Clinic #1, Rising, The Salt Book of Younger Poets 2011 and The Cadaverine. She has freelanced for newspapers in the UK and the USA and is a co-editor of Clinic. Sean Roy Parker is a third year Illustration student at London College of Communication and is a co-editor of Clinic. Working predominantly in collage, he simultaneously resuscitates dead media and celebrates transparent construction.