E. H. Brogan poetry

Fan Death from Grotesques I turn the fan on night-times, soI remember how to breathe whilesleeping, and so neverwake up dead. They think babies mightdo this, they call it SIDS. Another country,across the world, believes the same actwill fell their population, call itfan death. Somewhere else they lockcats out of bedrooms so they don’tsuck up souls lost…