Dimples eats from the trough of the world.
He tampers with the thermostat so we think we have malaria.
He boils up cabbage and calls it a sauna.
He squirts the toothpaste deliberately on his lips.
He sours the milk with his hairdryer.
He pulls up a chair and stands on it to treat us to
The Wisdom of Dimples, e.g.:
(i) never judge a book by its bookmark
(ii) never keep a box inside the box you’re keeping it in
(iii) if you lie down with biscuits, you’re going to get crumbs
We gather in the garden at dusk, while Dimples works
on his novel.
I’m fed up with Dimples, says Dimples’ brother, whose name is also Dimples.
I too am fed up with Dimples, says Dimples’ sister, whose name is also Dimples,
or the female equivalent of Dimples.
I am similarly fed
up with Dimples, I say;
I abhor Dimples like the cartoon cat abhors the cartoon dog,
like the small fish abhors the slightly larger fish,
like the lollipop abhors the stick what sticks it.
Dimples’ brother and Dimples’ sister pause,
their soya lattes frozen midway to their lips.
That is exactly something Dimples would say, they say.
Where is Dimples anyway?
His room is empty, his towel neatly folded on his bed.
The moon shines on it and the desk he sits at.
The Water-Babies, Charles Kingsley (1863)
From the Polka Dot Texts series, proportionally representing frequency of letter occurrence, ordered alphabetically.
Tom Jenks lives in Manchester. His latest book is A Long and Hard Night Troubled by Visions (if p then q, 2018) and his work has recently appeared in The Poetry Review, Perverse, Litter and The Penguin Book of Oulipo. He edits the small press zimZalla, specialising in literary objects. More at https://www.zshboo.org/