Wunderkammer

(based on suggestions from @johnnypurple, @kirsty_I and @suz_la)

Tiered cakes of rock, black chickens in the dining room

We slice open our hard brown bread to

Find a loaf of air tucked inside an egg.

Zoom in on mouths. There’s a mother to curate every quiver of lip.

I curl up inside them all like a clay child.

The curious noises of our teeth become trains, clickety clack.

A finger slipped along a screen

brings us to a curious place, a Hugh School.

A name that Wodehouse might have written.

Do they only teach children of a certain hue?

Or are all welcomed in a wide jellyfish hug

And led to brighter primary colours?

La parole nous a été donnée pour déguiser notre pensée

Speech was given us to (____) our thoughts.

I talk a lot, except in French lessons.

Our shade, as children, informs the stories we weave.

Every dog is a superdog, each case of nits is supernits.

We draw the letter ‘E’ like a fine-toothed comb.

Cheese slices pressed between hard brown bread

We slice open our dry-chaff schooling

To find a sheaf of wheat, waving at the sky.

______________________________________________

Today's poem is based on suggestions from three people:

• @johnnypurple: "cheese? mothers?"
• @kirsty_I: "Supernits and Superdogs" (Supernits are actually a thing)
• @suz_la: "Hugh school french class." *pause* Next tweet: "High school even." (I prefer Hugh School. It's where we all go to learn to say "Pip pip!" convincingly.)

Also, I was watching Jan Svankmajer's film Faust last night, so there's a lot of odd images clacking about in my head. The picture at the top is a screen grab from that film - I wonder if that is a real place?