You could give us five litres to wash with and we would give you back three. This land is parched. We measure it in swimming pools, count showers in seconds. At the blue eye it becomes solid, driving itself into the land. Ten years once passed without rain. I can name the day the skies last opened as if it were my birthday. The soil rejoiced in colourful song. On the shanty town’s border, walls built with discarded sun loungers, the sky projects a cruel mirage. It’s hard not to laugh, such a cunning, innocent practical joke. The skin of this place is caked
in salt, every year the mayor gifts us paint to brighten the walls.
Adam Panichi is a British poet living in Italy. This year he took part in the first cohort of Out-Spoken Academy. He is published in I’ll Show You Mine, VAINE and Magma. Italian translations of some of his work are forthcoming with Taut Editori. Adam’s debut pamphlet Cupid, Grown was awarded second place in the Paper Swans Pamphlet Prize and was shortlisted for the Poetry London Pamphlet Prize.