Gleefully you score pictures
on my white bones
with a sharp nail
and wipe Indian ink
into the minute
scratches.
I watch your scrimshaw emerge
with disinterest
until I see your artwork capture the
moment when an upturned hull
slips beneath the waves
to begin its long descent.
I recognise the ship
as that of which I had proudly
proclaimed myself captain

Albrecht Dürer’s
brush and ink
on tinted blue

Gently touching
long-fingered
“Praying Hands”

Stirring religious
veneration and piety
since he drew them

My pale
imitation
performed each night

Freckled hands
stubby fingers
chewed fingernails

Stirring divine
forgiveness and love
each time I bow my head

Bullets speak differently
when they meet someone new.
They scream “thwack!”
when they strike bone.
They shout “pthumpff!”
when they slap into thick muscle.
They squeal “pffit!”
when they pass through emptier flesh.
Best of all, they hiss “pzinnggg!” to themselves
when they find
no-one to talk with.

What do they say

when they introduce

a new friend

to

death?

You never felt snow tighten your skin with a sting
You never searched for the shore from the crest of a wave
You never grinned at the gait of a penguin
You never saw a whale’s grey fluke sink after rising
You never breathed in coffee’s warm rich aroma
You never heard the clearing of a smoker’s throat
You never saw headlights peer through dawn fog
You never smiled at an American accent
You never waited in a queue at the bank
You never cringed at the words of a driving instructor
You never sat and failed a biology test
You never kicked a football across the road
You never changed batteries in a tv remote
You never emptied the lawn-mower catcher
You never rushed to catch a bus and missed it
Yet exulted He chose you
Praise and glory to Him
Picked you from this world
And for it
The last in the line
The path straight to follow
To Him high above all
Alhamdulillah!