Sunday at the Skin Laundrette by Kathryn Simmonds

The World Won't Miss You for a While

Untie your boots and separate your toes,
ignore the compass wavering north/north-west.
Lie down with me you hillwalkers and rest

Quit trailing through the overcrowded streets
with tinkling bells, you child of Hare Krishna.
Hush. Unfurl your saffron robes. How sweet

the grass. And you, photographer of wars,
lie down and cap your lens. Ambassador,
take off your dancing shoes. There are no...