Poem 422

A sped-up time lapse of birth childhood adulthood death seen as a dash towards decapitation … we are birthed astride a grave says Samuel Beckett in Waiting For Godot and the flash of light we see is our life … or as Shakespeare puts it ‘our little life is rounded with a sleep’ … at least I didn’t title this The Human Race …

( I like the different meanings of line of fire and firing line, the developmental stages of crawling to standing to running, parents fading from the sidelines as they die, and the ‘winning’ tape turning out to be death which is going to cut the runners in half as they breast it … )

Line Of Fire

The vagina snapped open
like a camera shutter
                                           suddenly
the baby was there

the woman swelled up
ejected another
and another
they started to crawl away to get out of
the firing line
then stood up and ran

ahead they could see the flicker of a tape
stretched for their victory
the press of parents on either side faded
they sprinted neck and neck
bits dropping off them but they couldn't
look back
                     they ran on towards the strip of light
sharpened for them