Mustard and berry red,

washed out,
with a hole.

Wrapped around his torso,
to the world.

A beautiful face,
lethargic and

His foot stirs,
the eyes are still,
his mouth makes no words.

The blanket’s on camera,
The subtitle’s CHOLERA.

Meanwhile, a tiger print in Aleppo. ..
Fluffier than the other one
its corners’ are lifted
with a bundle inside.
The tiger’s head scream –
two feet appear.

Somewhere else, a blanket like mine –
Chinese and acrylic.
There’s a woman inside.
Is she still alive?

The blankets call to each other
from house to house.
Rasp into rubbled streets,
out to chicken yards.

A symphony of blankets
green, brown and blue,
disguising the bones,
blood, vomit and dirt.

From TV to TV.
Hear them, see them,
Build a wigwam from them.

At 7.40am, here in Erdington,
when the kettle cooled and breakfast is done,
the TV is switched off and the blankets are gone.


One thought on “Blankets

  1. An unexpected choice of focus: the blanket; an object that receives little focus. i often use Gore-tex as a symbol of status, doesn’t work as much in a Western situation, but it works in Korea as every farmer/labourer wears hiking clothes. i think the blanket similar to this focus, a symbol of protection & perhaps status.


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