Poems
by Mary Cresswell

Big Guy

 

I control the algorithm –

hear the knocking at the gate?

Ask me and it might be given –

you may serve to stand and wait.

 

You’ve quite enough upon your plate

just trust me with the algorithm.

I aim skyward, I shoot straight,

nothing else between us and heaven.

 

Here’s to you who think you rate:

Toe the line or die unshriven.

The lot of you can stand and wait.

I control the algorithm.

 

 

 

 

Apostrophe

 

Right-wing radical

sin of omission

or are you showing

hypersuppression?

 

Best kept in place

once counted quaint

you’re often caught hinting

at that which you ain’t

 

Skippin’ ‘n’ dancin’

all ‘round the page

age-old source of

proofreaders’ rage

 

Sometimes reduced

to merely a hint –

who would have thought

there was so much life in ’t?

 

 

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