It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather of broken glass <br />It doesn’t look like something to eat it looks like something eaten <br />It doesn’t look like an empty chair it looks like an old woman <br /> searching in a heap of stones <br />It doesn’t look like a heap of stones it looks like an estuary where <br /> the drifting filth is swept to and fro on the tide <br />It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather with broken teeth <br />The spaces between the stones are made of stone <br />It doesn’t look like a revolver it looks like a convolvulus <br />It doesn’t look like a living convolvulus it looks like a dead one <br />KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY FRIENDS USE THEM ON <br /> YOUR BITCHES OR <br />YOURSELVES BUT KEEP THEM OFF MY FRIENDS <br />The faces between the stones are made of bone <br />It doesn’t look like an eye it looks like a bowl of rotten fruit <br />It doesn’t look like my mother in the garden it looks like my father <br /> when he came up from the sea covered in shells and tangle <br />It doesn’t look like a feather it looks like a finger with broken wings <br />It doesn’t look like the old woman’s mouth it looks like a handful <br /> of broken feathers or a revolver buried in cinders <br />The faces beneath the stones are made of stone <br />It doesn’t look like a broken cup it looks like a cut lip <br />It doesn’t look like yours it looks like mine <br />BUT IT IS YOURS NOW <br />SOON IT WILL LOOK LIKE YOURS <br />AND ANYTHING YOU SEE WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU <br /> <br />London Bulletin, No. 2 (May 1938), 7.<br /><br />Hugh Sykes Davies<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poem-it-doesn-t-look-like-a-finger/
