Friday, 9 December 2011


Two little bruises
give you away
one on my right wrist
one on my left.

Imprints of your thumbs
as you held me
like I was the only thing
keeping you afloat.

Now just smudges,
like newspaper print
but the stain of you

I touch them
to remind myself
for one moment
I was needed.

Now I watch them
into the pink of my skin
like leaves

Thursday, 24 November 2011

Death wish

I wish
I was terminally ill
so I could quit work
We could sit
on the bed and
play board games
and you’d make my dinner
for me.
And when you weren’t here
I could read magazines,
write a diary
and watch trash TV.
And you’d have to be nice,
if you liked it or not
Whatever I said,
You’d agree.


Wednesday, 26 October 2011

It is what it is

Everything happens for a reason
Except rape and earthquakes.
What goes around comes around
Unless you get away with it.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger
Unless it’s a stroke.
Tomorrow’s another day
But not if you die in your sleep.
Karma’s a bitch
No, karma’s a fairy story
Rich boys get off murder raps
Babies die the day they’re born
Or before.
Oh well.
Time heals all wounds.
It’s just sometimes
you have to 


Friday, 7 October 2011


You are my ton of bricks, I can’t see anything but you.
I want to fold up inside you, safe beneath your skin.
Alone I’m on stand-by
Only you can resurrect me.


Wednesday, 21 September 2011


This scrunched up
of toilet paper
that I held in my
so hard
as your eyes raged
Is all that is
left of me
It is the only
of mine
still standing.


Tuesday, 6 September 2011


Ian showed me

a ticket

ripped, with a phone number

on the back.

Might have been

thrown out weeks ago

But now eerily kept,


He showed it to

me like a prize:

World Trade Center


September, 2000

‘How big was it?’

I asked, with the

naivety of one

who has never seen

the like

of a skyscraper.

‘Bigger than you could ever imagine,’

he replied.


Wednesday, 10 August 2011

Battery heart

I’m starting
to think
love songs are lies
love songs are
flush of lust songs.
No love song has
ever been written
ten years down the track.
Like a chicken
whose body grows
to becomes its own worst enemy:
the more you know of me
the more there is to
pull apart.


Thursday, 14 July 2011


I’ll never forget
that neon night we met
You were too good for me
at first
But not later.
We could done anything
If only we’d co-operated.
Time passed
Love rotted
You threatened I’d be 40 and alone
Instead you’re 30, in a mental home
What were you thinking
When you took - a knife…?
or scissors
to your dick?
I’m sorry you’re so sick
I’m sorry
for a lot.
But not for everything.


Tuesday, 28 June 2011


I watched
the cars bleed
the pavement
the trees
were weeping
softly on
the cars
Red and
pink drops
the gutter
and deep
recent scars.


Sunday, 19 June 2011

Father's Day

The posters in shop windows
order me to buy a card.
They tell me how to feel.              
They describe you like this:
You’re special
Number one dad
The best dad in the world.
They remark;
Thanks for being there.
There are cards for dads who like
Golf, gardening, DIY
There are cards with cartoons,
and racing cars.
Cards filled with sentimental slop
and silly jokes.
These cards speak a shared language,
Between sender and sendee.
Dad, I love you.
Dad, take it easy
Dad deserves a day off.
But where are the cards for un-special dads
For the worst dad in the world?
The ones who took a lifetime off
Where are the cards for the dads who failed?
Where are the cards for the dead dads,
the rubbish dads, the missing dads
the violent dads?
The dads we don’t love, or can’t like.
I want a card that says
‘You fucked it up.’
Maybe then you’ll stop calling.


Friday, 10 June 2011

TV times

if you saw
all the bad times in your life
played out
in sequence,
like the highlights on
Big Brother.
Every time you’d let someone down
Every time you’d picked a fight
Every time you’d acted like a little brat
despite being a grown woman
to get your own way.
Would you vow to change
or just worry that
your hair looks a bit funny.


Wednesday, 1 June 2011


we’ll put cucumber hats
on our cucumber heads
and cucumber pads
over cucumber eyes

we’ll drink cucumber wine
and eat cucumber pie
under slices of light
we’ll get cucumber high

then all that we own
will turn green
and then white
and we’ll run through our dreams
into cucumber night.


Tuesday, 24 May 2011


Sunk deep
in a cheap stuffed
Takes two
Just to prop you up
And those two
who wipe you down
and feed your mouth
think you’re frail.

Remember the baseball bat
Behind the door you
used on my brothers?

You used
something else
on my mum.

You don’t remember;
can’t remember
But I do.
And I’m happy you’re like this

From rotten to rotting
I hope it drags out.
Your pain.


Tuesday, 3 May 2011


What happened to the letter
You wrote to your parents
That breezy letter
like they were a pen-pal
Or a dear friend.
I was in awe of that letter
The tone of it was just right
You told them about me, about Yarmouth,
and Brighton
You hoped they were OK
And you didn’t want anything from them.
I wept when you showed me it
and said you didn’t mind if they didn’t reply.
You said it so convincingly.
What happened to the letter?
That should have been the letter
They’d been waiting for
For 15 years.
Did they even open it?
Did your mother weep, like I did
Why didn’t she reply?
Lost in the mail once, maybe, but you sent it twice
Unless they were dead.
Your dad is 80.
But then, wouldn’t someone have told you?
What happened to the letter?
How can you turn love off?
I wonder about curiosity and
Maternal and paternal instinct.
I wish they could know you
Like I know you.
Like I love you.
If I had their address, I wouldn’t send
a letter
I’d send a bomb.


Tuesday, 19 April 2011


The worst part about
ignoring you
is that
you haven't even noticed.

I am that insignificant.

I must have fallen through
a crack in your brain
the day after
everything got fucked.

The second worst part
is I don't even like you
any more

and I used to.
I really did.

Next month I'll be gone.


Tuesday, 5 April 2011


Today our house
Our little nest
Filled with pain
Like water filling Thai houses
to the brim.
Our lungs and hearts filled up with
Hurt and hope lost.
We looked for escape
and saw only our possessions;
all the things that made us who we are
swamping us with their normality.
There was no way to float to safety.
So before you came,
I sat in the garden
in the wooden chair
The only chair that wasn’t wet
And waited to find out
If you still loved me.
And still there were things:
A reminder of the fireworks,
The barbecue covered and dry,
the summer that hadn’t yet come.