The Doctor is in danger poem


From the bulk of his double-breasted suit,
Uncle magicked two shiny boxes:

a silver box that struck a fire,
another gold with sticks of fog.

I now know Love for its shucking off
the cellophane without a tear

like a child whose boiled egg shell
once emptied, he turns on its head

and makes that he hasn’t eaten at all –
oh, infinite, infinite, infinite breakfast,

or the child who learning the hours
turns the clock back back back.

For back, back, back then I was the child,
and I was ten, gawping at the ciggies,

all spongy round heads, like missiles,
ready to be fired. I remember Uncle less,

more his fishing with finger and thumb
inside the box’s interior ruff.

He happens on a card, his gift to me;
I barely palm it.

I see it now knowing its value from auctions:
(Front) the Doctor coralled by a throng of spears.

(Back) a block of story text: the Doctor in danger,
the planet in danger, Uncle too,

but that is by the by. I remember his words,
“Don’t say I don’t give you nowt,”

and how he blew smoke rings
like warnings seen from outside the fort.


One thought on “The Doctor is in danger poem

  1. Like the poem about uncle and his cigarettes. As an ex-smoker, it brings back happy memories of those nicotine flavoured days of old, when smoking was commonplace. Descriptive and with a good use of language.

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