THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

My mind is in intensive care.

I almost imploded under their shoes.

Their knees and shins deep in my spine.

Dissent is dead. She is buried. Cremated.

Pinned down under the weight of the public spirit (?)

Public spirit ?

No, I think not. They must have spelled it wrong.

Perhaps it's spelled J-I-N-G-O-I-S-M (?)

No? Then, B-E-L-L-I-C-I-S-M, it has a nice ring to it.

How about MISOGINY?

That's right, dissent is dead.

Nevermind, I am already forcefully mute.

Just in case, read this out loud (?) as a eulogy.

I will not be attending my funeral.