Amy Acre

My Father As The Unmarked State

Let’s say a man falls into a river
The idea is which qualities we assume as default
No someone falls into a river
A hominid of the homo genus 
falls and without 
distinguishing details
cufflinks side parting a tendency to do the washing up at parties
you form an image of a person falling 
into a river
Maybe love maybe love falls into a river fuck it 
A stirring father of the bride speech   sand in the sclera   bonhomie
couple of offcolour jokes   falls into a river
All the village elders   all the world’s men fall into a river
Luke Perry and Jason Priestly fall 
into a river
Tuesday says I know we’re not halfway yet  
but I’ve had a week    Tuesday 
falls into a river
Year 6 falls into a river
My father   white   five foot ten   medium hair  
six children   secure position at IBM  
catalytic converter   falls into a river
Middle C jumps off the great stave and falls into a river
The cast of Friends falls into a river
My teenage indiscretions stuff period
pants in the outside bin 
and fall into a river
The magic of Christmas falls into a river
One of these days   I fucking swear   I’m going to fall into that river
But no   it’s my father   falling into a river
Falling still my father 
falls into a river
My father   is    was    will be    falling into a river
We may not reach the other side

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Amy Acre is a poet and freelance writer from London, and the editor of Bad Betty Press. Her pamphlets And They Are Covered in Gold Light (Bad Betty, 2019) and Where We’re Going, We Don’t Need Roads (flipped eye, 2015) were each chosen as a Poetry Book Society Pamphlet Choice. Her debut collection, Mothersong, will be published in 2023.

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