Thursday, 31 May 2018

A poem by Peter Kenny


En garde, I whisper, lunging onto the train,
my elbows dexterous in their micro-aggressions.
We're all on the same line, and I re-read
the same line, until a well-Wellingtoned woman

treads on the tail of my eye. She follows a red setter
carving through cow parsley into an open field.
He sprints, I sprint, into the priceless possibility
of a place with no station and nothing to stab for.

Peter Kenny is a poet and playwright and a freelance creative director working with health and humanity clients. His poetry publications include ‘The Boy Who Fell Upwards’ part of A Guernsey Double (2010) Guernsey Arts Commission and the pamphlet The Nightwork published by Telltale Press in 2014. Also Acumen, And Other Poems, E.Ratio, The Frogmore Papers, Other Poetry, Poetry London, Island Review, Under the Radar and more. He blogs at

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