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

My experience was simple, straightforward,
driven by quotidian need, seen through his usual
clear, quirky prism around which a whisper of muslin curtain
breathes easy while playing in the wind of time.

After the reverie of mice, men, Blue Moon,
whalebone stays, and a Troubadour omelette,
cheese and mushroom, nicely judged,
my District line tube rattles to a New York rhythm.

At the chill counter in the new Marks & Spencer at Victoria
I am unusually decisive, perhaps because there is something there
I actually want: Wild Roquette, Watercress and Spinach Salad
in an elegant wrapper with a typeface to die for.

I read about the ingredients: "Wild Roquette
is a dark green thin spiky leaf with strong, tangy
peppery flavour. Watercress: the dark green small
round leaves on a crunchy stem...".

I put it back on its shelf. It is completely unreadable.
The fantasy me slaps a sticker saying "cadence free"
beside where it says "suitable for vegetarians"
and "will only help you to lose weight if...".

The captive mouse or shrew or whatever it is
the cat brought in, and which disappeared terrified
into the pile of books in the hall from which there is no escape.
will have to make do with cheese again tonight.

I put down these nightly appeasements
because I know that by not saving him - sending him off
from the French window into the safe outdoors -
I can only be his killer. It is only a matter of time

before there will be a crunch under my feet
or I will know certainty in my nostrils. But till then
I must believe he will escape back into his slim volume
published by Picador.