 |
Audio |
Poem from:
Fox Trousers by Eithne Hand
Hard ChawHand, Eithne
Harry was her fellah
but only cos she said so.
Too scared to refuse,
he walked her home;
promised to sit with her
at the Saturday game.
They met at half past,
walked with the crowd
to the grassy goal end,
bumping shoulders
just a little too often.
If he had to kiss her
it would be his first.
At half time he heard
her whisper low
he loves me / he loves me not.
Surprised, he leaned in,
then saw her bitten fingers
slowly pulling the legs
from a living spider.
Copyright © Eithne Hand 2020 |
|
