Mike Huett

English Lesson

Imagine you’re a rock, he said. 
I tried to think hard, solid, as you do. 
A struggle, for I didn’t feel hard, or solid  
Back then, I was the kid who 
jumped away, as you appeared aside
the desk. That startled boy, jumping 
so often, you even asked why?
But, I knew the drill, and didn’t talk
to strangers
I never wrote that poem, imagining 
you’d say; startled, jumping rocks, 
don’t exist, right after I’d jumped away, 
from a thump, that also didn’t exist

James Bond

a drunk being quiet wakes the house
(no mystery there)  
only this time, he’d jemmied a crate, 
half-inched from god-knows-where,
its wood keening like a banshee
brought mum down the stair,  
whereupon the kitchen table, 
under 60-watt light, 
diamonds appeared, in her 
What have you there? 
B’Jesus son, it’ll be prison for you!
he started laughing, and laughing
Diamonds aren’t forever;
wrong kind of ice, 
fish, meant for the Chippy 
(it fell into plaice)
surrounded by growing puddle,
and wooden splinters
(the wrong sort of chips)

years later, he robbed a jewellers
(no drinking on the job)
I asked him; do you see a link?
he started laughing, and laughing
James Bond, bruv, James Bond

Everywhere All At Once

There’s a place in grief worse than pain 
A place that scares me to the bone 
That place where nothing happens, 
over and over and over again 
Treacle days where I walked in nothing, 
and nothing slowed me down a pace
Slowly, slower, still, as frames 
unravelling from cinema reel  
Somehow Time forgot its name, 
and Change and Chance did the same
How long held between; a photo 
without a scene?
Then shift; a tiny movement did occur?
Tiny tremor, tiny stir? 
Thank god, or quantum fluctuations of 
the void; jitters restart the film again 
Whoosh; voices sync with mouths again 
It’s back; I’m back, you’re back, in a 
world where everything happens, all 
at once, everywhere, all the time

Flights, Issue Seven, December 2022