Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

My Grandpa grew giant squash,
feeding them multi-grade engine oil.

They loomed in the dusk, tendrils
coiled like insulated cables.

People came from far away, from
overseas, to gawp at the prodigies,

a small cult sprang up around
Grandpa’s magic, an eco-craze.

As a kid, I would spy on him
anointing long frozen beds

with gloopy muck, his fingers
dextrous calloused sticks.

It gave me dreams of liquorice
like wire looped around my teeth;

on waking, just for a moment,
it was impossible to speak.