by Jake Hawkey
Don’t wince, we all have to be told we’re wrong every now & then & how were you to know baby blue? Your hands are covered in plaster as you dream of building us a house in the middle of a tall green field; you dream of banishing bureaucracy while conceding that’s likely to involve being able to spell b-u-r-e-a-u-c-r-a-c-y. To break the lines where it feels most pain -ful so the communication lost at Babel can move maybe an inch closer oh my baby! if you do not wet my temple & kiss me in the bath, why wash? Oh God blushed making you.
Jake Hawkey studied art at the University of Westminster and poetry at Queen’s University Belfast. He was selected for Poetry Ireland Introductions in 2020 and is currently a poetry PhD candidate at Queen’s.