As If By Magic

After Mr. Benn

If I were Mr Benn I'd try to magic
myself into myself, just for a day
strip off all my clothes and waltz butt-naked
into the world beyond that second door,
feel the breeze on my tattooless skin,
have no adventures, see no colour

because in a world without colour
there is less distraction, there is no magic.
The heavens will be an unblemished skin
without the shackles of night or day;
the sun will be the light behind the door,
hot and white and naked.

There will be no moon, the sky naked,
very dark grey, slate or charcoal colour,
and I will be in charge of the door
and the light—electricity, not magic—
so I will control the end of the day.
But I'll look closer at the charcoal skin,

bleached freckles, a brush flick across the skin,
like the moles scattered across my naked
scapula and clavicle, like the day
is breaking slowly, pinpoints of colour
stretching, blurring realism and magic
into optimism; and I'll leave the door

ajar, lift my hand off the door
handle and walk away, and the skin
on the undersides of my feet, like magic,
will understand the coolth of dew on naked
grass, feel the sharpness of the colour
green. I will step further into the day,

deeper into the day, and the day
will fall from the sky and pour through the door
until I am wading waist-deep in colour,
until the sky is my skin and my skin
is the sky and the day is hot and naked.
But there is no such thing as magic—

reality draws colour out of the skin
as I waste another day stood by the door
wishing I was naked, that the world was magic.

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John Newson graduated from Manchester School of Architecture before retraining as a jeweller and gemmologist. He is a Best of the Net nominee and his poems have appeared in multiple journals, including The Lyric, The Moth, The Inflectionist Review, Modern Haiku and Allegro.