Yessica Klein: Breakfast at Greggs

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repainting four walls white and recalling other tight corners

the brushstrokes kissing each other overemphasise affection

strokes becoming interdependent as the brush and me ghost

this room into broad white sheets to wrap ourselves inside

neither a scab nor a scar nor scarab although presenting

a spud shape whose colour is garnet where soil has been

scraped away before even a blister formed all that time

I was raking with eyes only on what the tines had caught

two poetry pamphlets emerging from padded envelopes

like new-born twins skin fresh and ready to be lifted up

and held and gazed at for whatever it is we are seeking 

to discover in those eyes that might well speak volumes

pickled cucumbers little lizard limbs paddling through

vinegar to set dill swirling within your sweet and sour 

society behind curved glass as I count those green legs

to see how many are left how many right o you ticklers

my right cuspid that broke in half would any tooth fairy

want it and what is the current worth beneath my pillow

of an old salt’s tea-stained gnarl with its ice floe ridges a

sign of always trying to bite off more than I could chew