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.

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