Hannah Taylor

Yeah yesterday at drinks I dropped my phone.
Silly, really – drunk, half-wild, gesturing like a
Crack against concrete. Glass. I picked it up –
Half the screen was working, the other half de
Half a million Liquid-Crystals, flat-panel pixels
The first sights I see in the morning’s half-light
I curl up close around it, drinking in its half-life
My eyes half-open, the blinds slightly cracked
Having spent half of the night glued to the half
A half-smile of a friend, or half a haircut I liked
Shared recipes, portions, serving sizes halved
Half an AI cat, half a home, half a red suitcase
I read half an infographic, form half of an idea
Smotrich says half of Gazans can be ‘encoura
Half the chorus to a pop song I only half-know.
Perhaps it is just better to do things by halves?
After all, these are some very complex issues,
Maybe being a little bit blind can be good? Yes
A half-measure; a two-state; a joint agreement
I’m a moderate. I’d say I’m centre. I don’t care.
‘No chance, I only watched half of that – too lo
‘No I can’t make it to that, something’s come u
‘I would donate, but look – my phone’s cut in h
Back in my room I’m absorbed by the half-light
My half-life against the beating of my half-heart
Half a Marxist zine club, half a post-rock meme
Half a farmer’s protest, or half a baker’s dozen
Half a hit tweet. Half the white phosphorous in
Half a world away. Half a window is still a wind
Sometimes I joke to friends that it’s an upgrade
‘It is perfect’, I say. ‘I’ve halved my screen time

Hannah Taylor is writer of fiction and poetry, and a non-fiction editor at August Books. They are currently working on their first novel. They live in South-East London.