- Astute poetry from James Nixon.
I fear for her and this life –
the expectation that she will be in the
or the instigator of it.
Sitting alone proud in her GEEK T-shirt
the leader of a society of empty
chipped and chunked out chairs.
It’s a cold night
outside, something to start with,
words like winter, to loosen the room
that’s taut like a Polaroid,
that’s coiled tight around her static
Facebook photo sideways peace sign stance,
the symbolism of which I do not want
to know. I do not want to know
that what she is modelling would look good
accompanied by a New Era cap,
pink, with a foreign sports team’s logo on it,
tipped NNE at a 39 degree downwards angle.
I want to tell her that
in thirty years
that uncommunicative sign will be stupid
but I am not sure
if it is fashion or not.