Fight with an Angel
Published in London Grip with a different ending: London Grip New Poetry - Autumn 2022 - londongrip.co.uk
Extremely reluctant to commit to this
on the grounds that I might lose.
Note: address this worldly sense of status.
He's standing still, smiling pleasantly:
condescension, nothing less. I would like
to crush him - but how? Note: if I leave now,
it will look bad. Address. Address. Goddamn.
I walk up to him, set my leg behind his
and bend him back. He never stops staring
with a smile but, as he resists me,
I see some angelic sweat starting
which smells of ambergris on the turn.
He clasps my shoulder and my throat
and makes to twist me. Note: if I give now,
it will be too soon. People are watching.
I stare at his stare and smile and bend
his knee. The hard flesh of the back of his leg
goes over my leg, which is rooted to the ground.
And now it is unfair for time is stilled
and the sky becomes solid and then tears apart.
I hear loud, uneven voices. Note: don't give up.
I push against him
and the weight of dead moments.