Mark McLaughlin
Planet of the Secret Agents
Their wacky world is always in danger
and island-based factories keep churning out
sexy killer androids with poisonous lipstick.
Spies in silk ties talk into their cuff links,
go-go dance with bikini-clad informants,
and chase a pointy-bearded, chuckling badguy
every day. It's their job.
They drink countless vodka martinis,
fight off those sexy killer androids,
and hang over crocodile pits
as that pointy-bearded badguy explains
the who, what, where, when and why
of his latest evil plan. Spies never wonder
why a few swallows of milk turn them
into human sprinklers after they've been shot.
They never wonder about anything;
they're too busy trying to catch that badguy
once and for all. He's the mastermind
behind those sinister island factories
(he's trying to take over the world, you know).
How the spies hate his low chuckle,
so vicious, so knowing.
Sometimes, late at night, that chuckle
becomes the soundtrack of their nightmares -
torturous, treacle-slow images
of business meetings, flat tires,
runny noses, lawnmowers, tacky blazers
and hot blood drooling
from razor nicks.
and island-based factories keep churning out
sexy killer androids with poisonous lipstick.
Spies in silk ties talk into their cuff links,
go-go dance with bikini-clad informants,
and chase a pointy-bearded, chuckling badguy
every day. It's their job.
They drink countless vodka martinis,
fight off those sexy killer androids,
and hang over crocodile pits
as that pointy-bearded badguy explains
the who, what, where, when and why
of his latest evil plan. Spies never wonder
why a few swallows of milk turn them
into human sprinklers after they've been shot.
They never wonder about anything;
they're too busy trying to catch that badguy
once and for all. He's the mastermind
behind those sinister island factories
(he's trying to take over the world, you know).
How the spies hate his low chuckle,
so vicious, so knowing.
Sometimes, late at night, that chuckle
becomes the soundtrack of their nightmares -
torturous, treacle-slow images
of business meetings, flat tires,
runny noses, lawnmowers, tacky blazers
and hot blood drooling
from razor nicks.
magazine list
- Features
- zines
- 10th Muse
- 14
- Acumen
- Agenda
- Ambit
- Angel Exhaust
- ARTEMISpoetry
- Atlas
- Blithe Spirit
- Borderlines
- Brando's hat
- Brittle Star
- Candelabrum
- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
- Coffee House, The
- Dream Catcher
- Equinox
- Erbacce
- Fabric
- Fire
- Floating Bear, The
- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
- Global Tapestry
- Grosseteste Review
- Homeless Diamonds
- Interpreter's House, The
- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
- London Magazine, The
- Magma
- Matchbox
- Matter
- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
- Moodswing
- Neon Highway
- New Welsh Review
- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
- Orbis
- Oxford Poetry
- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
- Poetry Review, The
- Poetry Salzburg Review
- Poetry Scotland
- Poetry Wales
- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Quarto
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
- Smiths Knoll
- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The