Poem – James Norcliffe

made objects

as you stroke this
smoothness into warmth
your finger will meet
no resistance

the marks of the plane
will have been sanded
away with glass paper
there will be an application
of the molasses-coloured oil
with this soft muttoncloth

the word waft
will waft in a breeze
of vanilla and turpentine

a dust so fine will flour
the varnished surfaces
I will finger a message there

in times of famine
eat the tiny artichokes
that are thistles

but in times of plenty
buy these chairs

polish them for your children
and the children of your children

written by
my finger
in my dust
in the sweet oil

James Norcliffe

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