Self-medicating under the spell of Covid
with whiskey, night nurse, whiskey, sleep-aid
and whiskey. I found myself in hospital lying

saying I must have simply tripped
not been looking where I was going, hence
the cuts and bruises, the blood, once wiped away
that leaves a mark,

just like the Nike swoosh
on the basketball boots
once worn by Michael Jordan

I read that Nike, the company
are almost nothing, everything

is sub-contracted to workers who work
anonymously, subvert or circumvent
any labour laws, and do so for a pittance

Global capitalism
is (a kind of) philosophical connectedness

The doctor (I can see)
doesn’t quite believe me
when I say I must have tripped
and sends me for a brain scan
to see if I am stupid. Now

I’m waiting on the results
beside a man on a morphine-drip

more warily than the players
sitting at the ceremony

hoping it’s their name
announced for the award (MVP)

and not some other bozo

It was Jameson





Steven Taylor
Picture Nick Victor







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