Rachael Clyne /3 poems/

Gropecunt Lane

 


Food is symbolic

Before Muriel could protest, he filled both glasses. Richard always protested, even wore Protest sportswear. It’s unfair to say guys only want one thing; we also want food, he said. I’ve made mistakes in love, had regrets, but never the potatoes that went with them, thought Muriel. After a good dinner you can forgive anybody, even relatives, he continued, and it is vital to chit the seed, the sooner the better. Mmm, suggested Muriel, a smooth emulsion, like whipped cream, is a good way to bring food into the bedroom. But soup is just a way of screwing you out of a meal, he countered. It was a rude shock to find that their tête a tête had been subject to a manual action by Google. Bear with me please, said Muriel, these are terms I am fresh to.


Msmatched

when they laid him on the green
I thought it was karmageddon
I let him graffiti my bones
but he was only a footnote.
As he lymphed off down the road
I knew he was just another ignoranus.
Such mondegreens create a sarchasm
between my cerebral hemisfears.

 

 


Rachael Clyne’s work appears in various magazines, also anthologies: The Very Best of 52, Book of Love and Loss, Poems for a Liminal Age. Her prizewinning collection, Singing at the Bone Tree concerns our relationship with the wild.  For more click here.

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