I pull on my socks and
Think of a Victorian electroplated
Sauceboat, with four little feet
Crafted to look like the paws of a beast.
I brush my teeth and
Watch a vortex suck debris down a plughole.
I blow my nose and
Ideas flee from me like herbivores,
That catch the scent of a meat-eating beast.
I see them poised for a split second,
Then they run.
I try, unsuccessfully, to call them back.
Because I’d rather think of anything than
New born babies swaddled in blankets and foil,
Lying in no manger
But on a hospital floor
Waiting to die,
In Gaza.
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