Teresa Hardy
Quality Control
In the beginning
you offered me
a box of perfection -
hand-made
and Belgian, like yourself.
An original;
embossed card arcing over sculptures of creamy sweetness
and ribboned into place.
One snip, flaps sprang to reveal
a cornucopia of rich mystery -
mine to discover.
I took you slowly,
savouring my luck.
From beauty and smoothness between fingers,
to the crunch of teeth through crust to cocoa-
perfume melting on my tongue.
You were exquisite.
Epidermal layer devoured,
the monotony of quality dulling perceptions,
I stopped.
Underneath,
a hint of dust mingled with the scent of pleasure.
"Proof of authenticity" you glibbed,
colouring my outrage to shame.
You are only human, after all,
though clever with it,
knowing self-doubt clouds the Five senses.
Half-way through,
the creeping trail of dust motes
trapped on a cobweb line
hooked my Sixth.
"Human imperfection?" I challenged.
"Trust me."
Should I?
Luxury cloying,
I upended the box,
spilt the contents:
white and writhing, furrowing forms
were devouring your costly gift -
your box of deception.
you offered me
a box of perfection -
hand-made
and Belgian, like yourself.
An original;
embossed card arcing over sculptures of creamy sweetness
and ribboned into place.
One snip, flaps sprang to reveal
a cornucopia of rich mystery -
mine to discover.
I took you slowly,
savouring my luck.
From beauty and smoothness between fingers,
to the crunch of teeth through crust to cocoa-
perfume melting on my tongue.
You were exquisite.
Epidermal layer devoured,
the monotony of quality dulling perceptions,
I stopped.
Underneath,
a hint of dust mingled with the scent of pleasure.
"Proof of authenticity" you glibbed,
colouring my outrage to shame.
You are only human, after all,
though clever with it,
knowing self-doubt clouds the Five senses.
Half-way through,
the creeping trail of dust motes
trapped on a cobweb line
hooked my Sixth.
"Human imperfection?" I challenged.
"Trust me."
Should I?
Luxury cloying,
I upended the box,
spilt the contents:
white and writhing, furrowing forms
were devouring your costly gift -
your box of deception.
Page(s) 42-43
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- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
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- Dream Catcher
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- Fabric
- Fire
- Floating Bear, The
- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
- Global Tapestry
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- 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
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- 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