Normal Hitting

for Tom & Val




Her brace of laced ankles high on small hillsides.

Your bag of treasure left behind a low barrier.

Their sun blotted by vivid reds & reds – the

police are grateful & we thank them in turn.

The mind’s moony eye dilates, the peoples

fall by their waysides. Gallant, the wine

bows to our staggered applause.





Lounging in our rubber sphere, we bounce

without striking surfaces solid or obdurate.

Floating, hurtling, we remain sure of our

stations. We savour the words, we pluck

them from the chicken library, listening

in turn upon turn.          Snack snack.





Ascending through a nearby tree, one last message re:

tomatoes on the climb. Our sun bats at cloud cover,

and time is ripe for directing young hands toward

leavings. His feet smacked under the table,

the aggression love claims for its own.

This hit is ours for the taking. Live

long and preposter, homage.



[Sara Crangle lives in Brighton and works at the University of Sussex ( With Sam Ladkin, she runs Sancho Panza press (]

Copyright © 2017 by Sara Crangle, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.