A poem from Kherbek’s online collection Ephemera.


Delivery was slow,
so you said, vintage
toys from the ebay
void. I’m partial to the idea,

that somewhere, a dalek
disco has opened, a queue
extends up the pavement
of some post-apocalyptic
planet vaguely resembling
1970s earth or Detroit,
present-day. They huddle,
glammed to fuck,
plungers lipsticked, eye-
stalk rouged, before
a burly door man who
looks them over:
“Oy, you,
you’re in.”