The Literary Review
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Issue 9 Page 23
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Two Irish Setters
Stopping
at a red traffic light,
they stare at me
from the back window
of the car in front,
jowl to jowl,
a twinned pair of eyes,
and trundled ears.
Their breath
atomizes on the glass
and their tongues
hang out like
rubber eels. They
know more than
they show in their
unblinking
stare and
the way, when
their tongues
are retracted, they
assume the
mantel-chinned
bearing of two
bronze-aged busts.
Although some
lack the dignity of
their breed, these
two hold their
own as jurors
in a jury box,
weighing the
evidence of
what passes
behind them.
Then, at the change
of lights, in complete
agreement, they
give their verdict
and with a heavy-
lidded sigh,
simultaneously
close their eyes.
Planet Steroid
Another mission.
I am fat with alien juices.
I wake at four am. Repeating
conversations in my head.
Lolly cobble bliss bombs
flow through my veins.
If my actions seem transparent
it’s the serpent’s eye cap I wear.
Hang me up from the whelk
at the back of my neck.
Tease me into tracing the
hard consonants of my words.
Watch me moonwalk
across the kitchen tiles, waiting for the
slow trickle of tiny white spaceships
in my hand to fade away.
