And I thought I’m a crying cliche.

And the grave stones would be wet and shiny wouldn’t they?

So I curled into my coat closed eyes and rolled back into

Autumn where I was brittle and in shock

And I thought autumn. Brittle. Shock.

And there carved with a pen knife in my autumn tree

It Read. “Cliche City This Way”. The mushy leaves.

I slipped silently into spring

And my eyes awoke. Yes I woke in spring

Stretched out my arms. An old wooden sign

Hanging on a chain ‘round the neck of the sun.

it read “Clicheville”

So when summer came I thought.

I thought. I’ll show you.

But it was too hot and I had to take my coat off.

And my vest and boxers and everything.

There. I march naked up the road

and the sun is laughing hysterically

And I’m looking. I’m looking for signs. Lemn Sissay

The Fire People, an anthology of new Black British voices, edited by Lemn

Sissay, will be published by Payback Press in February