MAG Poetry Competition 2011 – Shortlisted Poem
I’m a big fan of wrestling so all the better if the place was previously owned by Hulk Hogan. He was my favourite. I know, I know, everybody loves Hogan, but that’s because he’s accessible and he has a great moustache, which is something I think almost all people wish they could grow at some point in their lives.
I need somewhere for my tropical fish; not too light, not too dark, not too dry, not too shark infested. I recently had a dream that a great white got into the tank, so now I’m paranoid. Some people will flush anything down the toilet these days and then innocent bystanders like me end up with a living room full of fish guts. It’s just not something I’m willing to deal with.
The front door has to be green. It has to. And it has to be the exact green of the door to my childhood home, but it mustn’t be my childhood home, obviously. I want the door to have five locks. Each key should be buried on a different continent and I should be given clues to try and find them. We should work hard to get what we really want.
I’d like to be close to the city so I have something to complain about, and I’d like to be close to the country so there’s a chance I might be murdered.
There ought to be a scent of apples. Not fresh apples; apples that are just about to start rotting, but they shouldn’t have actually begun to rot. I want the kind of scent that goes with honey sunlight streaming through a bay window into the nursery. Oh, and the nursery should be long empty, with the dust covered toys the only reminder of the children that have long since flown the nest and forgotten about their ageing, middle-class mother who always made it seem as though she didn’t love them. You know, the kind of scene that will drive me to drink spirits before lunch time.
There’ll need to be off-street parking and on-street parking, though I don’t want to live near any roads. I want to have to trek for three miles across swirling grasslands and treacherous moors to reach my home every night. I want to risk catching pneumonic pleurisy and perhaps see a ghost.