Anxious Pancakes / Sat Where My Bones Are | By Josh Hallam
Updated: Sep 4, 2020
Anxious Pancakes
Petra in marmite
Cantona kick to the dimples
toast in the dryer
hands in the air
balloon in a nostril
sharing platter of seafood for one
bathrobe tie in knots
the soft belt around a testicle
Octopus in a sprite can
a wingless angel
just add water
powdered to mix
ready-made batter
to swallow
dance all night with
like an impossible swing set
pendulum desk toy
school trip rubber
in the canal is the band stand collapsing wet in the
storm
Pissing it up the plasterboard
Monopoly with the inlaws
snogging in the pandemic
betting on the wrong horse
living in the wrong flat
the belly of a vomiting whale
beach salt sand marked rotten
with a fabric wanker
trained as an electrician
colour blind to most
cut the red wires first
burst the dam
Nuclear power will win
snip the dorsal fin from the last dolphin
for pot noodle juice
Get learning how to swim
Sat Where My Bones Are
I am sat where my bones are for a change being explicably brought to small tears. The euphorics in my headphones are touching my brain directly and a volume that I don't have to consider or tweak. I have the same aches and notice similar worries but am able to understand the semi circle of vision in front of me Like a snowglobe Able to hold focus not to a specific object but the busy scene of British summer Normal people sat in off-circles on grass tossing children in the air teenagers concealing kronenbourg Long shadows and omnipresent clouds and I feel the sting of lemon juice horizontal across my eyes as I wince as my throat swells and I yawn through relaxation and gently cry Today I have been me Not an idealised version constrained by the anxious potential for greatness Nor particularly virtuous, generous , wise, kind or connected just alive and located Underweight At risk of taking off as always but happy to be home Loved and loving to and from even my drained and sugarless limbs There are horizontal lines across my face Eyes squeezed Mouth flattened and widened while my tongue raises in my mouth and Sinuses glow with orange They could be full of cancer Seratonin Or just the smell of today
Josh is a working class writer from Derby. His day job is working in refugee solidarity (previously in Calais for 3 years, but now in London). His work often explores topics of racism, self-loathing Britishness and mental health among other things.