It came to light that mountains were some
of the least despondent land formations,
that a surprising number of gales
didn’t know what it was to howl.
The woebegone voice of the willow
confirmed it had no reason to weep.
Accordingly, schoolchildren were instructed
to rip up their books, releasing
alligators from their anger,
bees from their busyness,
cats from their curiosity […]
while one neighbourhood didn’t see any harm
pulling the sun closer to inspect.
It couldn’t be denied: that fiery mass
possessed no inclination to smile.
Household after household poured
whisky-cokes to toast the news,
the ice melting fast in their drinks.
Send Letters To:
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN
Please include name, address, and a telephone number.