BY CHRISTIAN WARD
Copyright is held by the author.
Turning into a dining chair was my first lesson:
“Appreciate your acreage of bark,” he said,
“every knot and whorl.”
Bluebottles, Coca Cola and Burger King
wrappers followed. Nettles made me itch.
Being a tomcat made my ego leap out of its skin
and I purred into every puddle, every mirror.
The hardest must have been a dolphin: extruding
a rubber stopper snout made my legs kick
into hooves and I flapped on the patio like a carnival
freak, the gush of icy water bringing me back.
Celebrities were done as a treat: Elvis paired
with Dolly Parton — who after one too many — twitched
into Dickens, his baritone “Suspicious Minds”
waking the whole neighbourhood. Rooks, blackbirds
and owls next. Flight, exhilarating and addictive,
consumed me for days and I relished coming back home
as a hawk that could outdo the fastest sparrow. My teacher
grumbled under his breath at the skill and speed of my mimicry
until I woke as a crack in a neighbour’s windshield.
My screams kaleidoscoped. Stuck for years
in this space, I learnt how hard it is to sound like a man.
***
Christian Ward is a U.K.-based writer who has recently appeared in The Hemlock, South Florida Poetry Journal, The Dewdrop, Dodging the Rain, The Seventh Quarry, Bluepepper, Tipton Poetry Journal, The Amazine and Rye Whiskey Review. His first poetry collection, Intermission, is out now on Amazon. He was recently commended in the 2023 Poets & Players competition.
