Slog by Rufo Quintavalle

I saw a grub so vast and disgusting
people took it for a dirigible,
thought there was a war and started shelling
peanuts, playing with their children, humping
the night’s dead down the backstairs each morning.
War breeds war, mulberry leaves feed silkworms,
most everytime I hear Mahler dying
young seems easy not heroic, same goes
for religion and autumn afternoons,
harder seems to make your peace and just keep
on doing the same things until you die.


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Rufo Quintavalle was born in London, studied English at Oxford University and then at the University of Iowa. He now lives in Paris. His poetry has been published in The Wolf and Upstairs at Duroc Issue 8.

This is part of a series of poems from invited poets. Previous contributors were Luke Heeley, Joe Ross, George Szirtes, Elizabeth Spackman and Ivy Alvarez. Illustration by Jonathan Wonham.