of grasshoppers,
of soda water with lemon,
or tumbleweed,
or cooking magazines, the ones
I leaf through to take in
brightly lit pictures
of things I will never make
I’d like the lightness
of the sort of digital clock
you get free in the Readers Digest,
that flickers with regret after
barely weeks in-situ
but carries on ticking
nonetheless
I’d like the lightness
of you as you watch and immediately forget
the news,
it’s gone
and it’s just time to take the pink pill
and then the green one
according to the note
on the microwave
About the Author
Emily Cooke is a Boltonian poet who has spent most of the last year in bed. Luckily this left plenty of time for writing and she has just started to send her work out into the wider world. Find her on instagram @emily_c_cooke
