Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Passing in from the decimal rain
I move the points from my glasses
before the warmth fogs every sight:
a Venezuelan in a leather coat
and his leather wife are bargaining
over a dog, more Faberge than
flesh - there are other customers but
I am engrossed by the smell -
it's as if the world had turned to hay
and all the carnivores locked
in the museums! A brittle dust
from the sun, a rodent of fern baths
is digging from the light. I see the signs
of love - rubber bones, plaited collars,
plastic grass: an assistant wags
the phone's black tail and Madame
will get her goldfish' elixir!
Holy be the name of Jack Russell
of the Established Church, whose
snappy Frankensteins are hunting
in the field of Kensington. I am
an interloper in this Pantheon;
steward of only a guinea pig,
I bow before a fantail pigeon
and grovel at a kennel
big enough for Cerberus. The fish
flash tropical lanterns in my dream:
those golden fins tell of
executions. This is the temple
of species that have come to terms
with man. Use us, exploit us
say the cool cartoons on cat food,
misunderstand our licking
and our bold paws up - we are
subscribing to the future
when four legs are revolution -
pay for your Mahler records;
soon our perfect fourths are all
the syntax empty trees will hear.
God grant me a proper pet to keep -
the assistant in the snakeskin shirt
and laddered tights will do -
I'll give her fresh water and glucose-
favoured straw; I'll crack her pecan nuts
and sprinkle sunflower seed
like humbugs on her plate:
quietly at home inside a box
my daughter's pet is waiting:
here comes the man of the Chinese
Puzzle who is himself
inside a box, the world another box
and boxes then of air and thought
round time, the sanitary box!
I must go home. I surrender
my place in the queue and catch
the spittle of rain on lip
and glasses. The raped earth still feels
firm under my careful step;
I light my mind at windows, all
High Street and Heaven glitters in my wake.