Edinburgh Fringe Festival

Martin Hayes presents 5 poems from Ox, his new collection. All images by Gustavius Payne Ox trust the oxen bought tickets to the annual oxen versus goats football matchwhich though having stellar meaning in the ox and goat worldnevertheless had to be played in a secret locationbecause oxen and goats are not allowed to play football anymore - silly none of the goats were as forward thinking as the oxenwho because they were armed with infinitesimally bigger brainshad gone and got themselves a coach the coach was not an oxor a goatbut an ex-Farmerwho had fallen foul of The National Bank Of Farmer’s interest rateslosing everything being on hard timeshe’d answered an advert in the paperand after one single clandestine meetinglanded the jobof becoming the oxen’s new football coach he coached at a higher standard than any goat or ox had ever doneand tacticallyhe was aeons ahead of all the goats and oxenwho all had clods for brains all of the oxen were so happy and excitedthey felt sure that with the ex-Farmer’s helpthey were going to inflict the heaviest defeat on the goatsin history on the night before the matchjust after the team had been selectedit was revealed to the ex-Farmer the secret location of tomorrow’s matchand as soon as the coast was clearthe ex-Farmer dialled the manager of The National Bank Of Farmers offering him informationthat would make him very important indeedbut only if The National Bank Of Farmersgave him backhis farm at the secret locationall the oxen and goats were slaughtered on the spotand the only evidence was the following unfinished sentencescraped into the floor in bloodby what looked like an oxen’s hoof once a farmeralways a far… *** Ox in hunger worries about his colleague Mole the starter a torn-out tongue tender with the years of grubby language softening up its muscle next the Earth’s platter spread with the scorched heads of its occupants mouths agape stuck in charred-black laughter from the high temperatures of a sudden cooking loosened teeth to be sucked clean of their leftover gum-flesh hanging on to their upturned roots as an ache inherits the mouths of all those that are left the wine blood upon blood deep as the dark of Moles’ eyes after culling then later dessert the cream of white fat opened up at Orgreave beautifully rendered beaten soft and silky to drip like victory down their iron throats the feast is never over never done Ox’s tail still wags within its bones but he knows it won’t be long before Farmer will work out a way to snap it open get in there and lick at the marrow of his insides too *** a night in the leaky barn this Ox and this Cow ate each otherit wasn’t ordered or planned or anythingthey just became bored one nightand stoked up a hell of a hunger gradually he chewed up all of her smileskept them in his intestines like eggs in a nestshe delighted in teasing his wordsinto the microwavewhere she nuked theminto seeping bulging-eyed monstershe munched on her eyes until all she could see was the back of his throatshe steamed away his tongue for thathe filleted of her womb to get her backshe peeled back the rind of his sternumand licked on the marrowy insides like it were an ice-lollyhe uprooted both of her legsthen sank in up to his neck, the Hyenashe just laid back and laughed loudersucking clean the mango stone she’d found in his headhe put his hands inside her stomachand clenched them to fists as tight as he couldshe jumped up and down on his eyeballsas though she was beating meathe put in the oven her nails and teethshe brought out her blender and blitzed his penis he said he was full nowshe said she was tiredand besides it wasn’t fun anymore so they fell asleepwhat was left fitted tightly up against what was leftand never woke up again until morningwhen the strapping into their ploughsdiverted their hunger awayfrom each other Ox gets a visit from social services they visited him once never needed to knock the leaky barn not being hisdoors were left off latchinside the filth afflictedno pictures nailed the wall to yearn a lost heartand not one but sixty of them stood swishing their tails staring at what the walls might bring their still beating hearts language was not chucked around this place uselesslyeveryone knew only one word none of them could quellnone of them!they were prisoners of their own songHunger it was called *** Ox dealing with the light when light comes in through the cracks in the leaky barnit hurt Ox’s eyes when light reflects off the steel handle of Farmer’s thwacking stickOx’s flanks quiver and tremble when the low morning light of the sunreflects off the puddles in the yardOx’s heart sinks when moonlightbathes the dusty roots with its magicOx tosses and turnsthinking that a great spell is being placed upon him and when the lights of the abattoir burn through the night from a distancelooking like a search partycoming to the rescueOx hasn’t a clue that is where it will all end which all helps to provewhen you see an oxmomentarily pause in a fieldswishing his head from side to sidelike in a great struggle to set something freethere’s no need to worryabout the revolution starting anytime soonbecause all it isis Ox pretending againthat he’s got something going on up there when really there is only blackness and fogand the pain from all of this light Ox is available here.