In the latest issue:

The American Virus

Eliot Weinberger

The Home Life of Inspector Maigret

John Lanchester

Story: ‘Have a Seat in the Big Black Chair’

Diane Williams

The Last Whale

Colin Burrow

In Beijing

Long Ling

Princess Margaret and Lady Anne

Rosemary Hill

At the Movies: ‘Arkansas’

Michael Wood

Ruin it your own way

Susan Pedersen

At Home

Jane Miller

The Ottoman Conundrum

Helen Pfeifer

Poem: ‘Muntjac’

Blake Morrison

Piketty’s Revolution

Geoff Mann

Short Cuts: In Tripoli

Jérôme Tubiana

Coetzee Makes a Leap

Christopher Tayler

At Auckland Castle: Francisco de Zurbarán

Nicola Jennings

Drain the Swamps

Steven Shapin

Diary: In the Isolation Room

Nicholas Spice

New BikeAlan Dixon
Close
Close

You didn’t expect Jackson Pollock flicked over the frame.
(We imagine fun-crusted machines and their operatives’
Overalls standing as sturdy as pachyderms’ legs.)
Take a dekko at this black bottle! A dynamo!
That thing with a grid that looks a bit like a compound eye
Isn’t a reflector. Yes, bikes always had an insect look.
Picabia rode a wheel-winged insect, though I used to think
Of him squeezing a honkable horn, liking options for transports
With chère Udnie and others. (You’d love his fly-looking dog
Riding behind.) I hope you don’t end in a Pollocky splatter
But only as little buckled as Picabia’s tyreless wheels.

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