The Doctor is in danger poem

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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.

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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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