Remote

As the remote chance of bird flu entered Norfolk
you fisted the chicken,
slit small pods for the garlic,
persuaded lemons to leak out of its skin.

You brought the roast potatoes to the table
and felt valuable as brand own salt
swaddling your hands in my reflector jacket
I was invisible as a workman when stuffing was served.

The wine was not a placebo
and soon all were sick,
reports from the window of the milk guzzlers
surrounded by cyclists
sounded true
as the side view of the carcass
aligned and argued.