He built, assimilated glorious Delta. The red deco of the helmet,
chevron chest, a work of soft nostalgia. There is nothing like the grace
of a laser, bright jet streamed from silver. Nothing like the lilt of pistons.
He sketched his weapons fine as constellations, saw them built
to devilish perfection. Would they stayed suspended in their cases,
air-fix delicate, tended by obsessives. Would no-one pulled the trigger.
Would no-one, tended by obsessives, pulled the airfix-delicate trigger.
Would they stayed, suspended to perfection in their devilish cases,
fine as constellations. He saw his weapons sketched, built them
of silver pistons, the streamed bright jet of a laser. From nothing. Like the lilt
of grace, there is nothing like nostalgia. Work the soft chevron chest, a
deco-red helmet he built of the assimilated, the glorious Delta.
ALEX BELL’s poems have been published in various journals, papers and magazines, including The Morning Star, Poems In Which and The Quietus.