Archive for September 8th, 2021

Wednesday, 8 September 2021

In the back of this poem by Penelope Susan Cottier

there’s a dog,
not a kelpie, balancing,
but a fat Staffie, snuffling.
The poem goes fast around corners.
It picks up words and slings them
into the back (move over fattie!)
There’s room in the front for two,
but it’s better when the poem drives itself,
not Tesla-y, but with its own unseen hands.
It grips the wheel, at 10 and 2.
Red as any riding-hood, red as pox,
this poem revs its V8, musically,
and sometimes even plays its horn.
A utility poem, it can do all sorts.
Climb in the tray (move over fattie!)
lie down snug, lest there be cops,
and it’ll take you out, out for a spin,
far from any pastoral routes,
into the clustered streets
and through slim, light volumes of thought.


Date: 2021

By: Penelope Susan Cottier (1962- )