In an attempt to prove that God didn’t exist,
I filled a bucket with water
and like a windmill’s clock,
spun a fly wheel around my body’s axle.
The blood fizzed in the bell of my eyes,
my ear drums warped to a beat,
or the shock of a clot,
fit to burst my melon tender head,
and I spun that bucket like a fairground ride
in the hands of the damned and the fallen.
My question answered, I wound down time,
counting the seconds in: this gravity
that pushed an ocean up against its wall,
and boiled the plastic astronaut in his metal box,
had slowed my heart to an almost stop.
The bucket rested in my blistered hand,
the water sparkled in its sun soaked sky,
not one drop spilt.
Disappointed, I sat down on the grass,
out of breath and dizzy as a saint.
_______________________________________________________ Mark Stopforth has won poetry competitions with Inclement Magazine, Pulsar, Battered Moon and the Leeds University Press. His poem, ‘The Bucket’, won the Fleeting Magazine Short Writing Competition. Mark lives in Stroud, where he teaches and exhibits fine art.