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Egg

My Life in Bastard Japanese

Beautiful. He is
indicative of all that
is right with the world.

Spring is here, I
pick fresh yellow buttonholes
and wear them with pride.

Bass thuds up floorboards.
Get your raga on and drink
beer in the basements.

Drunken and giddy,
we fall fast against brick walls
as we kiss and kiss.

You are tender and,
we make the best kind of love
every other day.

Each day opens slowly
but the nights are folded up
and concentrated.

They recognise me
in the corner shop and pass
me milk, bread and eggs.

Pink cotton knickers
slip down my pimpled legs and
we’re at it again.

Our kitchen table
is flooded with stale food,
and scraps of our lives.

Some people say that
thumbing through old photographs
can hurt. Remember that.

Friends, boyfriends, brothers-
all the best men I’ve known
love Radiohead.

In my room I dance
to soul music because I
can move best this way.

Jemima Foxtrot

Egg

Egg

Tags: haiku, Jemima Foxtrot, poem, poetry, Radiohead

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