Thursday, April 28, 2016

#113 Kevin Brophy 'On reading a book about Willy the Wimp'

So, what is a wimp, she asks.
They look back at her.

A carrot? one of them tries.

I suppose, she says, if a gorilla can be a wimp
a carrot can be a wimp.

But tell me, what is this wimpy wimpishness
in a carrot, or a gorilla who is a boy in a book?

The word spills breathy from the lips, an almost-stutter
that can’t rise above a whisper.

I can understand you not understanding
what a Knight might be, or some Baron,

but how can we not feel the meaning of wimp?

Let the sound go though you like a noise
goes through a pack of dogs in the dark.

Feel it like a flock of parrots feel panic
lift their feathers’ stalks in the night.

That wimp—go on, say it—

that wimp is apologising again.

1 comment:

  1. I hate the word 'wimp'. A lot of my childhood was spent with a bully boy brother calling me that! Yuck!


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