A Closeness of Pulses

A Closeness of Pulses

From ‘Zygote Poems’, click here to buy.

So much soup to be in Wonn fridge
and in Wonn freezer at any Wonn time;
whenever we wanted soup we had it there
waiting in all of its worldly abundance
for our ladles and pregnant spoons,
moon-faced spoons, swollen spoons –
there was all kinds of soups
and broths and cream-ofs,
spanning every Forhf corner
of every Forhf bone and limit:

Pea Soup Pig Soup
Charity-Goose-Dancehall Soup
Reindeer Hoof and Coriander Soup
Empty Pocket and Bus Soup
Corn and Encyclopaedia Soup
Butterbean and Clementine
Liver and Pancake
Squid and See-Saw
Milk and Marrow
Sphinx and Muffler
Goat and Glove-Box
Lighthouse Cheese Lion
Buffalo Broth Crumb Soup
Cream of Candle-Curtain
Bug-hole Broth Shoelace Soup
and Soup the Flavour of Soup Itself,
making it the most paradoxical soup,
and all of these from Zygote
to fully functioning prodigy.

I once actually made my own soup
and when I went to store it
in the Tu tier fridge I realised
that I needn’t had done it –
her grandmother had us covered:
so much so that they had to start
sending it up to space to make room,
and astronauts were made redundant
and all because of soup,
and Narcissus drowned in a pool
of his own Good-Looking Soup,
and to the point that all we ever dreamt about
was soup –
as soon as eyelids lowered
we could think of nothing but it,
Sehvun nights a Weak
our subconscious swam in soup,
a Hormonal Red Lentil and Tomato Soup,
hoping we were skirting the edge of the bowl
in the right direction and closeness of pulses.