Body Works

Ask me about my pig latin body
and I’ll tell you about how it folds
itself into thirds every morning
and then concertinas back into a shape other people recognise.

I’ll show you how it moves

in a way that looks like walking - knees dislocating every other step
I’ll confess that my hands sprout
extra fingers in the evening;

my feet are frog-webbed, my hair stands to attention.

On good days my finger joints click into place with only a little coaxing, my head slots on at a right angle gooseneck twitching -

elbows bend backwards and forwards - if I’m lucky. Most often I can leave you

the secret: how my head unscrews
at night like a bottle cap;
how it’s sometimes left unscrewed in the day, face down on an unmade bed.
On these days,
my chicken body reverts
to base animal impulses.

I’ll let you know how my body is a trick mirror hidden
at the back
of a discontinued fun house, rats nesting at the feet;

and I’ll describe it as it’s delivered to me: limb by limb.

Bertie Pearson (they/he) is a writer, artist, and all round silly man originally from the deep north (Sheffield) now located in West London. They are interested in exploring sex, relationships, and anything that's stupid enough to make them laugh. Find them on instagram @thecloudsarecold or message them for their hinge profile