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Jo Bell
THE MINOTAUR SCHOOL
THE MINOTAUR SCHOOL
THE MINOTAUR SCHOOL
We blame the parents for these ash-pale mongrelshurtling their bones from room to empty room.
Not their fault they’re a bag of hide and bollock,
whale-bulb head and cankered knee, buckling
as they belt towards another dark dead-end.
Their cueball eyes, their soft bland brains;
each one alone in his own panic
smelling for a golden thread
suckling anything that might be mother.
It’s all you can expect.
At night we hear them bellowing their terror
through the long blank corridors.
© 2014, Jo Bell
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THE MINOTAUR SCHOOL
We blame the parents for these ash-pale mongrelshurtling their bones from room to empty room.
Not their fault they’re a bag of hide and bollock,
whale-bulb head and cankered knee, buckling
as they belt towards another dark dead-end.
Their cueball eyes, their soft bland brains;
each one alone in his own panic
smelling for a golden thread
suckling anything that might be mother.
It’s all you can expect.
At night we hear them bellowing their terror
through the long blank corridors.
THE MINOTAUR SCHOOL
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