Smithereens Press Chapbooks 'Zero at the Bone' by David Wheatley | Page 10

in an arse-end of nowhere place yet to come up
with an off-licence, a chippy or video shop.
[Pause.]
Philip Larkin, dome-headed national treasure –
I mean, reputation under erasure –
I mean, spirit of Albion with a beer gut
and bicycle clips – I mean, rancid bigot.
Take your pick. I mean, visionary author
of ‘Here’. It all depends on what you’re after.
I’m after the exact spot on the point
where England trickles away and you confront
that ‘unfenced existence’ he describes.
Somewhere among the bunkers, dunes and hides
hides the black star of anti-matter
that leaves this place and me dead in the water,
the White Rabbit hole I’ll happen upon
and, late for my disappearance, disappear down.
MCDONALD
[Enters reading from notebook.] Southerly passage: brent goose 6, widgeon 144
plus 40 u-turned, gadwall 9, teal 46, tufted duck 4… [Pause. McAllister rolls his
eyes. Resumes.] Common scoter 199, goldeneye 2, red-breasted merganser 9,
goosander 1…
MCALLISTER
What, just the one? What about its mates?
MCDONALD
Maybe it was blown off course. What’s
for tea?
MCALLISTER
I was assuming you’d say ‘Goosander’.
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