Craig Taylor-Broad

Clocking in 
on the elephant skin 
a squashed bird lies 
in the road 
with a poultry two feathers up, 

an impolite salute 
to the fox suit 
stretched out 
and pegged up on the washing line 
swaying in the wind like a beaten piñata. 

I would kill to look horse faced 
in certain ways 
so the bar tender won’t ever ask daft questions like 
“why the long face?” 
when I’m trying to look fashionable as I drink,

and just how can the bear keep warm
when its fur has been withdrawn
in favour of a person like me
who lives in California 
and has no use in any clothing beyond a mankini.

When will I, as an individual, care for the health 
of the dog barking its shotgun mouth 
chasing silhouettes of birds 
as they are plucked out of the sky
just for fun?

When will the hedgehogs doubled over in the path 
pretending to be unfashionable hats
so they won’t be souvenirs or pets
have the confidence to bundle around
as normal animals should?

When will we as a race
take it upon ourselves to see that it isn’t our place
to catch fish 
with the dangling whip
of the food chain?

Never, I guess.

I wouldn’t want to be
in the animal enclosure
watching the lions skulk
below a conspiracy of grass
while antelopes collude
to a false sense of security
hop, skip, and jumping 
below the horizon of their mothers watchful eye,

I wouldn’t want to be 
in the animal enclosure
as the lions pounce
like grasshoppers into our skyline
bounding onto the young
tired impressionable innocent flesh
with a dull thump
that leaves a puddle of a bruise on my very ears,

so why do you think
that I would want to watch you
in the very public eye, tearing flesh
from a young girls bottom lip
until I can see that she had pizza for tea
and pulling at her skirt until the only imagination I have left
are the noises she may make as she orgasms.

A kiss in public should not be 
like a kiss in private, but like a wedding kiss
because a kiss is not an undressed caress
but a commitment
that even when the passion may have gone
you will still be
right here -
next to me.

When I was a youngster I recorded a lo-fi album in my bedroom with me playing all the instruments. There’s some spoken word on it. Enjoy. Share it to your friends. Let them enjoy. Then buy my book online so I can afford to make some freaking more. Thank you.

I may not be a knight in shining armor but I would make a great husband give me your hand and I will it eat because I would rather be a jealous man than not care at all too much of a good thing always leads to sabotage the weather forecast for today; gale force sins, I only look forward to the past your temptress tongue twisting a tie around our wavering fidelities has your water broke you sunk my battleship our love like a goldfish swirling the stratosphere of a flushed toilet gasping for air it may not be dead yet but you are sure as hell killing it. Your vagina always looked like a crying cut up fruit I ate but never for the taste I called you my Happy Meal not because you made me happy but because you are only worth one ninety nine and you are as common as screaming children, you ain’t all that girl just one of my five a day I wrote this poem for the day you would leave me for another man; this is it, I hope it gives you a high cholesterol.

I popped out
of the womb fizzing
like an upturned bottle of Coca Cola
bull rag red screaming ‘please
put me back, I don’t like it out here.’
my mouth bubbling
with anger, constipation, vaginal fluid
and you lay there
coo-eyed, he stood there
still and emotionless as a corner shop fridge,
and I bet you looked at me
as if I were perfect like a symmetrical corporate slogan
the worlds proudest parents.
“I think he looks like an Edward”
my mother said, “No no, he looks like an Aaron” my father replied
and I wonder now, looking back
whether life would have been different
had a compromise not been met.
“How about Craig?”
he nodded and they both held me
shaking me up until I spat
eruptions of teeth rotting drink
brown languishing upon the new mothers cheek,
what’s in a name?
perhaps I could have become
a rock star, an astronaut, a fashion designer,
but I was named Craig
and I guess I will never know
how brilliant I could have been.