Readers are asked to send a note of any misprints or mistakes that they spot in this poem to firstname.lastname@example.org
This poem is taken from PN Review 196, Volume 37 Number 2, November - December 2010.from 'Dirty Data'
The dog is tense the day Ben Hourihane
falls fuel of the new Roman turbine,
Little Miss Sally hisself, tense enough to set off a chain
of events that will see Ben mine
warehouse after warehouse of schlock
and link him via a slave ship
to a hell for leather chariot race at Antioch.
Sooner or later Messala will need a lot more than a double hip
replacement while Ben will barely chafe
at the bit. That’s right, Messala, an amputation saw.
The doctor is cocking an ear to your chest’s tumble-de-drum
like a man trying to open a safe.
To add to the confusion, Ben’s still trying to crack a lobster claw
with a lobster claw made of titanium.
This poem is taken from PN Review 196, Volume 37 Number 2, November - December 2010.