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Poetry

Two poems

Judy O'Kane

Two poems by UEA graduate Judy O’Kane.

 

 

Readers’ Night at the London Review Bookshop

 

This isn’t a lonely hearts column,

it read, It is an occult ritual

that opens a gateway to hell itself.

 

I set up camp in Travel.

A man drinking red wine disappeared

into History. We stood our ground

 

staring purposefully at the shelves.

The bell over the door rang out:

we were open for business.

 

I followed a high-pitched

frequency audible only to dogs.

Pair-bonding began.

 

I circled the room (invisible).

Sea salt crisps

crunched out loud,

 

contorting my face;

they made perfect little bowls

for the peanuts.

 

I leafed through Wine,

Biography and Poetry,

abandoning half-drunk

 

glasses on the shelves.

I devoured peanuts

using the crisps as shovels.

 

I headed home

in the company of an old faithful.

I was taking a refreshing

 

turn about the room with Miss Bennett

as the Tube pulled into Covent Garden.

A tall figure asked, Is this seat taken?

 

We stared ahead

as station names flashed by,

as the train hurtled into the night.

 

 

 

Brace Yourself Bridget

 

Shakespeare was right,

Sell while you can: you

are not for all markets.

I made contact before

every date, in case my

face appeared on the

side of the milk carton.

I put the hours in. I

hovered over tables,

watching myself

flailing. He talked, I

laughed, we drank.

He disappeared

towards the bar;

I reached for my

phone: my bag

 

 

was gone. The

policy paid out.

 Next time I made

contact with the

insurers: Cover me,

I said, I’m going in.

 

 

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