Foetal Cues – a poem by Andy Eycott

Andy Eycott
Foetal Cues

The comma hangs,
An ash heavy cigarette,
Taped to the skin of my lip.

It hangs condemned,
A brief stop gap,
A breather.

A connection
From one word
To the next.

It hangs with
The patience of light
From a burnt out star.

A bent nail
To catch lucky horse shoes
Thrown across oceans.

The oscillation of a fan blade
Onto my palette,
Dry as a seagulls’ cry.

The arc of a bridge,
The precision of a fish hook,
The worry of a question mark.

A hinge to connect
One thought to another
One world to the next.

‘Foetal Cues’ by Andy Eycott was commended in the Sentinel Literary Quarterly Poetry Competition (August 2016) judged by Terry Jones