For Kris & Katie
At the Palestinian Literature Festival
a poet from Oxford read a poem about Oxford,
unfortunately, she couldn’t be present tonight but sends her wishes and invoice.
David is the main star he thinks his words shone the brightest, but everyone boos.
Goliath read a poem from Prison and a guard gagged her,
unfortunately, she couldn’t make it tonight.
At the Working-Class Literature Festival in Rhyl
Hyffkksfivjdskkngjgj read an austerity poem Londonized for clarity
he lost his legs in Iraqnolongerexists and they shortened his body for Blair.
At the Middle-Class Literature Festival in London
a poet is talking about Palestine over Israeli hummus and they forgot the jus,
tonight, he will read his award-winning poem “Starlit Vineyards O’er Mars”
At the secret literature festival held by a tombstone,
they are saying nothing, there is, nothing, oh but a crippled Jackdaw.
It is wanting to nest in the smoking chimneys of refugee’s breaths, come home.