Blue Toyota by Antony Owen

Last Monday,

in the slow red rivers of rush hour

a woman sawed stars for a woman

pulled her like a new-born from the wreckage

and sheep threw their arms out from windows

fondled her with androids saving her death.


This morning,

at the unnamed island I thought of her

and lampposts hung like dead daffodils

flickered pink to grey, morse coding –

her name one last time to yellow tape;

hey look at the sky it has come undone.


This evening,

I’ll film sunset over the hard shoulder

ping pong moon to heaven from Bedworth

and use my android to save myself –

for human nature is a burning Toyota

lit by robots on unnamed islands.


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