THINGS 2

ATTILA'S MOTHER

I sat
Next to Attila's mother.
A large lady
Who spilled over into my seat.
We talked-
Or rather, she talked.
About her son.
Rape and pillage?
My son, violent?
She seemed surprised
At my suggestion.
Listen, she said,
Tugging at her beard,
I thrashed him
When he stepped
Out of line-
Discipline, you see.
I watched the fields
Pass by the window
Of my now present time
Attila?
I blame his parents.

EXAMINATION

Examination has no persona,
An it rather
Than he or she.
Not even an in-between.
No anthropomorphism
Is too good for it.
Examination lurks
In calendars,
Locked in cupboards
Sealed in envelopes
And when loosed,
Rampages through schools.
Fluttering its papers
From a thousand desks,
Scratching
The mind's storage
On to lined
And margined sheets.
Examination is an epidemic,
Whose symptoms
Are bitten nails,
Tangled hair
And slightly damp parts.

All poems and photographs [unless otherwise acknowledged] 
 © Bryce Cooke  All rights reserved

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