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The Magic Sponge

Alex Saynor

Friday, August 2nd, 2024

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Through rain drifting across floodlight beams
and smoke off the hotdog hut
from a corner by the Thames

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 you can see through black metal railings
through the smog and instant snap of fag ash
a distant heap slumped on the floor.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Who is it? Please not Houghton or Davies.
A medical phenomenon, our hopes to resurrect –
for all its flaws and holes in the argument –

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 is the dank and rebounding beige air brick
with dabs of refreshment,
placebo brushes of renewal

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 like a non-consensual splash on the bonce
at the font to appease an unknown devil or god.

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 If you break your metatarsal
or have a problem metaphysical,
here’s a dab of water to the arm or head.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 Rainwater runs off
through all the drainage infrastructure
or cascades from an outflow pipe
and freezes in the night.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 You’re winded, distended, bloated,
fractured, strained or just not right.

9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Something snapped; was it a twinge,
a strain, a pull or phantom twang,

10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 but through the rain and smoke and mist on all sides
as from a dry ice machine evacuating all
at the start of a meeting where dry ice was on,
but really not needed, no matter the break

11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 or convalescent years ahead,
what you need in the moment is a dab on the head.

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/the-magic-sponge/