POETRY || Billy Reynard-Bowness
THE DOMINO EFFECT
Like a domino in a rally
Am I part of the team?
Am I next in line?
Am I to stand or do I fall?
Like a domino in a deck
Will I be played?
Will I be laid?
Will I be noticed at all?
Like a domino on the table
Do I fit in?
Do I join up?
Do I answer the call?
Like a domino shuffled around
Can I adapt?
Can I settle back in?
Can I hold back the gall?
Like a domino in the box
Should I feel safe?
Should I like the dark?
Should I welcome the pall? 
MAN-FLU: THE EPIC
A Trojan horse. As Cleopatra in a carpet
Enters hidden on a breath
Incubus; droplet alien drawn in,
sets about its work; brooding job to do.
Awaken a little stiff, sweat and grog
A scratchy throat; a swollen lymph
Shower power, rinse and coffee makes well.
No. Twas not to be this false alarm, I’d grabbed.
Working fast now, growing, flooding
like snow melt hitting parched desert.
Seeping into cracks; changing blood-scapes.
Reprographic virus; dissociative – to thrive.
A false pardon was granted this morning
Cruel deception, such as played on Nick Bottom
teased mind into belief; a surge of relief,
Just early morning rust; blow away sleep dust.
I am sick of it now, the sickness; the bug.
My alien visitors; my too close encounter
making things smell wrong – like vinegar
and my nose pop as each side turns to unblock.
As big screen drama – epic plays out in my mind.
The white cells; the soldiers wiping out alien-kind
Duelling MacDuff and MacBeth in Dunsinane cell
Waging battle within me; my man-flu living hell. 
In the Boondocks of the Ozarks
Salty caramel smelt of August
Swathes stench of rotten trailer parks
Imprisons barren mid-west dust
Feral fevered kids a hunting
For to cool; shoot up, or drink
Arthritic railroad; tie and shunting
Ferrous old town wretched on the brink
Since the cease of mine and logging
Depletion of iron lead and zinc
Nag horse too dead for flogging
Folks futures draining down the sink
Some respite in the summer heat
Buzzing tourists; campers for trails
Like blackfly plague pick off the meat
Fly fast; escape as another harvest fails
Dark currents pepper darker mood
Intolerance grinds in the daily way
Resentment bread as only food
At someone’s door the blame shall lay
In the graveyard of the Ozarks
Rednecks dance on industry tombs
Burn brown smoke spice. Moonshine sparks
Oblivion; no life. Back to mothers’ womb 
Art: Edgar Curious