has got a club foot. 
He has to wear a special boot 
that doesn’t cover his toes. 
He doesn’t like the boot 
so he wears a sock 
and when it gets a hole in it 
he puts another one over 
the holey one. 
Sometimes he is wearing 
ten socks at once. 
His club foot looks heavy 
but he never says that it is, 
or that his fat leg 
makes him walk sideways. 
He can’t climb up the ladder 
at the pool very well, 
but he can walk along the bottom 
of the pool on his hands. 
His club foot and fat leg 
don’t matter because 
his hands are flat like feet. 
We sit together 
at the back of the class, 
he can’t fit his leg under the desk 
so it sticks out the side. 
He doesn’t play bullrush, 
softball or rugby. 
He never joins in on sports day. 
But he can sing with the loudest voice. 
He puffs out his chest 
like the rooster 
his Nanny keeps with 
her chickens behind the garage. 

Being on Telly

People only come down Panama Road if they live here. 
We got our own dairy with a bike stand out the front. 
Joseph said Mr Patel got a shotgun hidden behind the counter. 
I don’t know about that but every time I go in there 
I see myself on the telly above the doorway. 


Kay Corns has just completed the MA in creative writing at the International Institute for Modern Letters. Her poems have previously appeared in 4th Floor Literary Journal.