Poem of the day

Apple Pie in Pizzaland

by Maura Dooley

We are apologising to one another

for our shynesses. The waitress apologises

for the lack of sultanas (not like the picture,

she says). I still probe between slices of

apple as if I expect to find something other than

air. You spin the menu and pleat the paper napkin,

our cutlery scrapes eloquently enough.


On the train here a Canadian told me how

his province holds a lake the size of England.

I imagine you and I and Pizzaland, the green tables,

Doncaster, the fields, motorways, castles and fiats,

churches, factories, corner shops, pylons, Hinkley Point,

Lands End and all of us dropped

in this huge lake, plop.


Years later, new people will stroll on

the banks, remarking how in drought

you might see the top of Centrepoint

and in the strange stillness hear the ghostly

ring and clatter of Pizzaland forks on plates.


14 November

from America

by Rocío Cerón

13 November


by Christian Campbell

12 November


by Pekko Käppi

11 November


by Anne Humphreys

9 November

The Term

by William Carlos Williams

A rumpled sheet

of brown paper

about the length


and apparent bulk

of a man was

rolling with the


wind slowly over

and over in

the street as


a car drove down

upon it and

crushed it to


the ground. Unlike

a man it rose

again rolling


with the wind over

and over to be as

it was before.