Incubus
I was on my way to the morgue
In an empty ambulance
(already late for my reservation).
As I laid there,
I listened to the radio
Narrating stuff of no interest to you.
And then, the Static.
My god, that static.
What can you see in the static?
I see my kin
My heritage
My hermitage
My hemorrhage.
Miniature Storms
I’m hosting a miniature storm within my chest
(It’s a black tie event like every other funeral)
Every other day.
Do not be alarmed;
It’s simply the defibrillator
In an ambulance heading face first into the hostile.
(Same ambulance? Memory’s a tricky thing at this point.
There is, however, a certain kind of ambulances
That will forever be the same, no?
When the ride is a rite
Of passage.)
Memory’s a tricky being in my joints.
A mind diction.
My addiction.
The Chaos Disorder
A blind lawyer and a paralyzed ballerina walk into a bar.
Just kidding.
The woman obviously can’t walk.
The man can’t talk in terms of light.
Out of order?
I’ll show you out of order.
This whole poem is out of order.
[The critics will trip all over that last line.
“Lines 5 through 8 form an ascending tricolon, or a tricolon crescens as it is widely
Known, so Lloyd surely had an order in mind. She’s yet to submit to chaos, chance
Or lack of structure to suddenly begin so now.”
Them critics –– I c-can’t keep a straight face with them. It is a pop reference you
Buffoons, not a premeditated “tricolon crescens”, as it is widely known.]
Fictional Translations
The prologue of every translated work
Has a paragraph devoted
To that which gets away.
After extensive research (PhD BtW) I’ve concluded:
The hardest fiction to translate
Is the silence shared by two potential lovers
-incorrectly known as friction.
And we’re all potential lovers (more or less or less)
So you get where I’m going with this.
You do?
Which system are you using to convert
My silence into yours?
Please help.
I got deadlines I must keep
And files to go before I sleep
And files to go before I sleep.
On Thin Ice
Hart got benched
(brain injury she says)
And Sol followed shortly after
(never mind him)
And so Brian and Mindy were subbed in.
We then proceeded to lose the local championship
In a fashion
That
Was
Logical.
(Apologies for being sentimental)
[Mary Burnett Lloyd is a Britsh Greek poet, essayist and translator, born in Essex, UK. She has lived in Greece since 2009. These poems are part of her unpublished book under the working title Pearl and Umbra.She's also working on a book-length poem called Universed.]
[Η Mary Burnett Lloyd είναι μια Αγγλίδα-Ελληνίδα ποιήτρια, δοκιμιογράφος και μεταφράστρια, γεννημένη στο Essex της Αγγλίας. Ζει στην Ελλάδα από το 2009. Αυτά τα ποιήματα είναι μέρος της ανέκδοτης συλλογής της υπό τον προσωρινό τίτλο Pearl and Umbra. Εργάζεται, επίσης, πάνω σε ένα εκτενές ποίημα ονόματι Universed.]
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