Horrid Spider

by Chris Buchanan
Poetry, 2018

Me dad he said
the horrid spider
comes
and takes your head.

Me dad he told me
it spits on your lips
then the horrid spider slides
its bulb from behind,
saliva squeezing hips
tight.

Horrid spider babies feed
inside you,
masticating rot, imbibing
dead snot, loosening clots
and lots of babies are freed.
Nose bleed.

Me dad he drew
his fingers through,
smells
of day-old dew.

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Pram

by Chris Buchanan
Poetry, 2013
From the collection Growing Up Too Fast
Published in the Live From Worktown 2014 anthology

A bakery, takeaway, charity shop,
Chicco logo, scuffed shiny grey
plastic handles, bent-over bus-stop.
I’m showing you the park today.

Chicco logo, scuffed shiny grey,
cold sun-glare in both of our eyes.
I’m showing you the park today.
For now just look up at the sky.

Cold sun-glare in both of our eyes.
You lie back and see mummy’s chins.
For now just look up at the sky.
Keep flashing that fat kiddie grin.

You lie back and see mummy’s chins
and laugh at my upside-down smile.
Keep flashing that fat kiddie grin
and stop fiddling, just for a while,

and laugh at my upside-down smile!
Don’t notice my dirty old nails
and stop fiddling, just for a while-
look! Here’s the Pirates’ Nature Trail.

Don’t notice my dirty old nails,
plastic handles, bent-over bus-stop.
Look. Here’s the Pirates’ Nature Trail,
a bakery, takeaway, charity shop.