The West

Hums
low, electronic

shipping container drums and dust and waste and rust and
industry removed

dense and sprawling

the core cut out, the core-hole yawning like a homeless
cat, my homely heart holding up its mangy body
dangling a morsel to tempt it to lead me
stroking its belly, feeling its neediness, willing to make it wait until it concedes that we’re

just the same

we’re hungry, and coreless
the Knight of the North East and the Cat of the North West.