Tag: Gabriel Smy

That was a woman

The other day I saw a woman in an omnibus
open a satchel and take out a purse,
close the satchel and open the purse,
take out a penny and close the purse,
open the satchel and put in the purse.

Then she gave the penny to the conductor
and took a halfpenny in exchange.

Then she opened the satchel and took out the purse,
closed the satchel and opened the purse,
put in the halfpenny and closed the purse,
opened the satchel and put in the purse,
closed the satchel and locked both ends.

Then she felt to see
if her back hair was all right,
and it was all right,
and she was all right.

From The Windsor Magazine, November 1907, via Futility Closet. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

Broken bones

Baby chicks hatch out of eggs
Smoke goes up a chimney
Chess is a kind of game

Spilt ink makes a splotch
Broken bones can be set in a splint
Rain splashes into puddles

The lamb has a woolly coat
The carving knife is long and sharp
A wren is a small brown bird

Sentences out of my homework book from when I was six. We had to put words into sentences three at a time; the resulting stanzas were haiku like and a little sinister. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

Prosciutto

When I was young, there was one kind of prosciutto.
It was made in the winter, by hand, and aged for two years.
It was sweet when you smelled it.
A profound perfume.

If it’s too warm, the aging process never begins.
The meat spoils.
If it’s too dry, the meat is ruined.
It needs to be damp but cool.

The summer is too hot.
In the winter—that’s when you make salumi.
Your prosciutto.
Your soppressata.
Your sausages.

An old Italian butcher talking about making prosciutto, via Bill Buford, according to Wikipedia. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

Doubles

I miss you. I hark back to the friendship
we used to have, impromptu adventures,
knowing the everyday details of each
other’s lives, nights in watching trashy TV.

I’ve been there at 3am when you’ve clutched
my hand and explained he’s dependable
and he’ll make a great father. I want to
tell you that it’s the 21st century

but you don’t listen to me any more.
I am impeccably polite. I put on
a rictus grin when you spend an hour
discussing your wedding plans. I am

becoming a souvenir of your past life,
to be gradually discarded for
women you can play doubles tennis with.
I’m happy for you. But I wish you’d call.

From What I’m really thinking: the single friend, The Guardian, 26 January 2013. A few words omitted: ‘that’ (line 6), ‘I know, ‘really’ (9), ‘something’ (14); and sub clauses removed in lines 8 and 12. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

The Bravest Man

Most of them were left just where they fell.
We came to the man with big mustache;
he lay down the hills towards the river.
The Indians did not take his buckskin shirt.
The Sioux said, ‘That is a big chief. That is Long Hair.’
I don’t know. I had never seen him. The man
on the white-faced horse was the bravest man.

Two Moon, a Cheyenne chief, recalling the Battle of Little Bighorn in an interview for McClure’s Magazine, September 1898. Via Futility Closet. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

Backstage

Phaeton chariot and Argus’ head,
One lion skin.
One tomb of Dido, one bedstead
Canopy, old Mahomet’s head.
Iron targets, one Mercury’s wings,
City of Rome, one golden fleece
Belin Dun’s stable, one bear’s skin
Tantalus’ tree
And Phaeton’s limbs.

Items picked out of an inventory of ‘all the properties for my Lord Admiral’s men’ – the Elizabethan theatre company – taken by impresario Philip Henslowe, 10 March 1598. Via Futility Closet. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

The Shooter

“We do this every night.
We go to a house,
we fuck with some people,
and we leave.”

He’s got a gun within reach.
He’s a threat … in that second
I shot him, two times in the forehead.

Bap! Bap!

The second time as he’s going down.
He crumpled to the floor in front of his bed
and I hit him again.

Bap!

Same place … he was dead. Not moving.
His tongue was out. I watched him take
his last breaths, just a reflex.

And I remember as I watched him
breathe out the last part of air, I thought:
is this the best thing I’ve ever done, or the worst?

From ‘I killed him’: US Navy Seal who fired the shot that killed Osama bin Laden breaks his silence, The Independent, 11 February 2013. The words come from the former Navy Seal, with ‘on’ (line 6) and ‘breath’ (11) removed. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.