A Poem By Tom Spencer

TERROR OF THE ZYGONS

Je sais bien, mais quand même.

This one they call the Doctor is a threat to us. Already he has found out too much. He must be destroyed.
a very drab term Doctor comprises
any passive attitude toward
her oiled hand returned to my one,
the Doctor, increasing her is
she a threat until it popped
out of us from the already.
With each has, I found harder through
too much. O, me alone! Extreme
instance of which appears to be
that in which threat is conditional
upon suffering physical or mental
much at the hands of the Doctor.
The Doctor grew must and be as
she destroyed then I took This one
and whisper’d to her: Have you any
they? Call gave me and smiled:
you a Doctor is, I see,
threat. Well, well, I am old
in that much is the only way
you will ever call again.

Selected humans provide us with body prints, a Zygon device that is beyond your understanding.
She does not have to know because
she puts his eyes on and his face
and his ephemerality
transports her to another place.
Selected humans body prints
beyond her understanding go.
The job of a Zygon device
is to permit her not to know.

Just beyond Brentford. A disused quarry. We’ve got them, Mister Benton!
Benton, oblique, noses searchingly
he’s been got for us for years.
His teeth grow. He says he has
run them to ground. He says what
we are disused on the edge
of understanding, he thought
he would have found us by now
just to get out and ring the doorbell. Beyond
Brentford opens the door for you
do whatever your quarry
told about going in, they’ll force you;
we’ve got them now
might be a good time to explain your new life, Mister Benton.




Tom Spencer is a critic and poet who teaches in Montgomery, Alabama. His work has appeared in Catechism: Poems for Pussy Riot, the Times Literary Supplement, The National, American Literature, and elsewhere.

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