Two Poems

Mark Ford


Accordingly, I lay with my wife for three
Successive nights. During this exact period of time
The Mets beat the Cubs and it rained continuously.

October 8th. Fearful itching all over.
After much prodding and goading from H.
I agree to see a skin-specialist.

The park by starlight. The margins
Fill with doodles. This space, these
Pages, shelve ever more steeply into darkness ...

High Performance

Seaweed drips from one’s head
Looking like hair – only green, straggling,
And with innumerable pods to pop.

Together we wander on through this literary-critical
Conundrum. We’ve spoken of it before
And have agreed we’d die for less.

It’s all in the name of ‘high performance’,
Which really means good looks, a super intelligence,
And one of those tight-fitting, wavy-patterned sweaters.