Second Generation Upgrade
I take an invisible dog on holiday
to the coast, with raven feather tied
to my hair and a new iphone in my bag,
my passport is ready for a quick get away,
and I must look a sight in these
snow-boots and sunset skin.
I ask for directions from men with strange
dolls in their shops, pasted
next to buckets, spades and flags, the dark
doll shapes smile at me. They don’t
even know what they are.
The sign in the car park tells tales of Saxons,
ancient spears, elephant bones.
Up and coming area, lady’s maids’ day off,
a fat woman cut her face out, replaced
it with a postcard war time smile.
Stone faced speech happens in small snorts,
stops and starts, I finish sentences,
start them with a peace pipe, blow
holy smoke up them until
they’re tickled pink. They like a laugh.
The locals; they once arrived to work
for big men in posh houses,
now they man the kick me quick stalls
and could disappear into waves.
They are told what to do by the big men
in posh houses over the river. In a garden,
next to the cliffs, dogs lick my hand.
They are small and scared, bark
too easy, desperately want to be loved.
Jessica Mookherjee is a poet from Wales, all over London and now Kent. Her book, Tigress was shortlisted for the Ledbury Munthe prize in 2021. Her new collection is called Notes from a Shipwreck (Nine Arches Press).