A USED COT ON EBAY

Barely used wooden cot
in teak effect colour
originally from IKEA.

Disassembles
and assembles easily.
Instructions included.

Buyer collect
or prearranged freight
costs.

Dimensions:
137 x 66 x 100 cm.
Weight: 33kg

SLEEP

or FOR HARPER

for HF, SF and HF

Sleep is what you do,
what you've done,
what you've did.

And when you are held
you are asleep.

Strange, to be born asleep
to be asleep
to sleep.

One day you will wake.
One day you will open your eyes
and hands.

One day you will not be asleep.
Your eyes and hands will open.
Your mouth will open.

Then you will not be asleep.

PHOTOS OF MOLLY ROSE JONES

for SJ

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
in a rocker or on a mat

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
in a striped onesy and hat

In a rocker or on a mat
Molly Rose Jones
in a striped onesy and hat
Molly Rose Jones

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
She smiles she is amazed

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
surprised eyebrows raised

She smiles she is amazed
Molly Rose Jones
surprised eyebrows raised
Molly Rose Jones

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
in his hands in his lap

My boss posts photos
of Molly Rose Jones
see her laugh and clap

In his hands in his lap
Molly Rose Jones
see her laugh and clap
Molly Rose Jones

See her laugh and clap
in his hands in his lap
Molly Rose Jones
Molly Rose Jones

NAPPIES

for EM

Nobody told us the baby
would make so much shit. Nobody

warned us the piles of nappies
that propped up the rocker was

unconquerable. We were buried
in walls of elasticated waist bands

that pinched our hips. Gave us rash.
We were Sudocrem freaks. Washed

our hands every six minutes.
Worried about dysentery and anthrax

and rats. But we love the warm
parcel each morning and calm

the accompanying sobs. The child
is colic or sick or overfed

or underfed, or just walking in nappies
as if she were filling her britches.

To hell with the nappies.
May their stinking white edifice rise

out of the dustbin like a Triffid
attempting to strangle the house would.

BABY

Chuckling like a grenade about to explode
in a fit of bubbles you're all hiccups
and clammy nervousness in my arms
or one hundred china plates
waiting to be dropped on terracotta


but vowels are playing your lungs in attempts
at flights out of the universe
into the unknown spaces beyond this room
where potential is effortless
and without boundaries like mountains