2 poems by Tim Frank

Love and Death at the Supermarket

We lick the rotting produce
And swoon by the pears.
Give me COVID, give me bird flu
I want us to die
Inside the freezer
Where the light always shines.


Dead Language

Speaking in tongues
Never blossomed in the city.
Shrill modern voices
Strangled it to death,
In the cauldron of words.
Yet, one day,
I woke from a dream,
Chewing on my fists
Head inside the mirror,
Babbling
Like a ruptured ceiling fan.
At breakfast
I screamed at a catatonic egg
And it fell into fits
Of grandiloquent laughter.
Then I ran into the sun—
Neighbours mumbling in disgust
Competing with my slang
Like vintage computer games.
Dancing on the roof
Of a mauve Chevrolet
I saw temples, mosques, and churches,
Bubbling
And ready to explode.
As night fell in line
With the discourse of the day,
I clung tight to a statue
In the middle of a square
And drooled before a crowd,
Ready to perform.
I had become a servant
Of futuristic sounds
Spewing like arcade fires
At war with the city
One word at a time.


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