The Knives of Villalejo is two years old

I've no idea whether the correct term is birthday or anniversary, but The Knives of Villalejo has just turned two. To celebrate, here's the opening poem. The first section of it was originally published as a stand-alone piece in The Rialto.

Formica

(i)

An ochre dusk through the window,

stewed apples sighing from the hob

and slippers squeaking back and forth

on the lino - Mum’s become Gran,

Son now Dad, but a boy still plays

at the same Formica table.

This kitchen’s hub, its ersatz knots

are giving off a perfect shine,

(ii)

The empty chair is staring hungrily

while I eat my pasta, each spoonful tracked

by the arching slats and tethered cushion,

by the almost eyes of the almost you,

by trees swaying through your almost torso

and clouds converging with your almost hair.