Matt Haigh

 

Cadence

Go limp. Let the liquid engine’s
thrum rumble through you from within.
Feel it woo your bones to butter.
In the voice of the speaker
you’re the lull of Sunday
afternoon to dusk. Swoon at the sweep,
the rush, that scours you smooth, as several pin-
prick Indians prickle a rain dance
down your spine. Perched precociously on
the slip between unconscious
and conscious, cleave away from yourself:
the creamiest separation
of cloud-fleshed fish from its vertebrae.
Your back’s broad, hair-speckled expanse
is the blown from tropical beach fluff
and his hot, soft feet slushing across it.
Who’d have thought a mathematics teacher
could be an epidermis puppeteer?

 

 

Matt Haigh is 27 and lives in Cardiff. His poems have appeared in Poetry London, Magma, The Guardian and Fuselit. He keeps a blog at www.matthewhaighpoetry.com

 

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