He arrives in a pixellated taxi
so low-res he could be any
of the men who’d tried to resize
her round the axis of their doubts.
Her fractal word within a word
within a word, too small for her own
resolution, plinks into the glass
she hands him, with silver umbrella.
Reduces him to an uncertain ellipse.
smeared across the whole lounge
and the hours of four to six,
a space-time of continuing failure.
Parallel lives warped by a joint mass
that sucks all the air out of the place
Ruth Aylett teaches and researches computing in Edinburgh. Her poetry is widely published in magazines and anthologies and her latest pamphlet, Queen of Infinite Space (Maytree), is available at https://www.amazon.co.uk/Queen