Some codes are harder to crack—and i’m no
Alan Turing—we haven’t all got an enigma machine,
so give me your cipher and we can speak in plaintext.
Next time you dance away, teach me the steps
first, I might tread on some toes, but together
we’ll find my rhythm—no promises, but I’ll try.
Fumbling in your maze, too short to see over—
puzzled and searching for the centre of things,
leave me some breadcrumbs, let me come find you.
Sean Chapman is a British writer living in Cornwall beside the capricious Atlantic Ocean and amongst the blur of a blue Whippet and a red fox Labrador. His prolonged and wayward adolescence included working in a Taiwanese astrophysics department, on a Salford mental health ward, on the Liverpool docks, and in a Manchester disability support office, before washing ashore in a Cornish surf shop. Between daydreams of cowboy adventures and surfing escapades he writes poems, dedicated to Maggie, some of which have appeared or are forthcoming in Marble Poetry, Raceme, Squawk Back, Prole, Dreich Magazine, The Pomegranate London, Trouvaille Review and Anti-Heroin Chic. He can be found on Twitter: @seanchapman_1.