The priority seat

The umbrella
The keyring

The bus-stop
The priority seat

The “Yes, please”
The three dollars ninety
The teabag
The front page
The crossword

The plastic basket
The chops, potatoes, carrots, peas
The “Fine, thanks”

The bus-stop
The priority seat

The keyring
The umbrella

The light inside the fridge
The power point
The teabag
The armchair

The three rings
The “Not interested, thank you”

The window
The couple pushing the pram

The light inside the fridge
The exhaust fan
The chops, potatoes, carrots, peas
The foam of the detergent

The wine cask
The armchair
The remote control

First published in Creatrix 49, June 2020

The teeth

I dream a dog,
large, yellow, short-chained
to the rear wall of my house,
in sun, rain,
starlight, lunging
and snarling. Its man comes
and goes. I can stand the days,
I say, but at night
can’t you keep it
at yours? He doesn’t answer.
I can’t get past the teeth
to loosen the chain.

First published in PPC Covid Drum 13, June 2020

1932

reading the poems of women
born the same year as my mother
unaccountably
     a homespun hat
     a handloomed cloth
     she’ll leave me
     paintings of cats
     with flowers
     she’ll leave me
     a blanket-stitched potholder
     a gingham apron
unaccountably I fold
into tears

First published in Writ Poetry Review 4, May 2020