The Agency
I ate the mushroom
growing on the wall of the downstairs toilet
in the house we rent. I folded
a thick slice of brown bread around it
and gobbled the lot raw. They might try
charging us extra at the end of our tenancy
because the mushroom wasn’t meant for us.
But in their assessment, what is? See
what I have in my hands. It’s nothing.
See it moving. Like devotees
bowing round a colourful altar.
They forbid us painting over the white
but I painted anyway on the white
of the sink with the rainbow
of my vomit. I am
thirteen again. I am hovering
a foot above the ground like a god. They don’t want us
skating on their office block steps as if
the concrete isn’t there for us. Smooth
as a dream of endless falling. Shouting
watchmen emerging to shoo us off the premises.
What are they thinking,
that they can contain this? It’s only
my folded arms holding me together.
If I raise my hands towards the sky,
so bright and boundless I ache,
a thousand canaries will take flight.
LIam Bates
Liam Bates is a poet originally from the Black Country, UK. His debut full-length collection, 'Human Townsperson', is now available from Broken Sleep Books. He can be found on social media @liambatespoet.