Sunday, 30 July 2017

2 poems by Louisa Campbell

Empty


Stephen’s in the office throwing chairs out
of the window.
He stops to send me messages.

There’s soup on my keyboard, he says.

I say, ‘Maybe you should finish your soup
before you start throwing chairs out
of the window.’

How do you know
I have been throwing chairs out of the window?


‘Because you are Stephen.’

I am tired; the chairs are heavy.

‘Perhaps, if you took the people out first?’

But what would be the point in that?







First published in Amaryllis, Louisa Campbell now has a pamphlet, The Happy Bus, forthcoming with Picaroon. She has realized that life is silly, but important, and is pleased about that.

------
First published by 17/11/2016

Feral You


Oh no, no, no do not forgive,
but grab on tight to all your grief.
Don’t take your fury by the arm
and frogmarch it into the street:
It will survive on scraps of thoughts
and memories left out for it

and sometimes scrawny, sometimes sleek,
at night time it will stand and screech as
bold as brawn, outside your gate,
when you're grown up,
when it's too late.





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