I want to make this site more productive – fact! Since no-one reads anything else on here, I’m going to use it as a creative space, an online Shoreditch if you will (though not as wanky) and put up bits of writing I have been working on which you, dear readers, can respect, ridicule or merely respond to. And with this in mind (and to show that I am not proud) here’s a poem that I wrote at 2.30 in the morning when someone walking past my window woke me up:
I
listened out for company
Or some muffled conversation
But ker tink ker tink is all I heard,
Your heels in isolation.
According to the PM,
East London is the new Wild West,
Your stiletto heels should be okay
If paired with a bulletproof vest.
They left on your own, didn’t they?
God, men are shit.
He could have been a she, of course.
In which case, she’s a tit.
You could be a man in Cuban heels,
Like Prince or Sarkozy,
They would make the same ker tink ker tink
Or am I merely dozy?
You should have kept your bus fare back
Or a fiver for emergencies
Especially in the case of
Any crappy date ressurgencies.
(I’m assuming it was a date, because friends wouldn’t leave you on your own, would they?)
A contrast in our contexts,
You cold, me in my den
I’d feel terrible if tomorrow’s news reads
‘High heeled murder in E10.’
Your footsteps fade from earshot,
My eyes roll back in their sockets
Instead of vexxing on your ker tink ker tink
I start to dream of
rockets kung fu karate chops tiny caravans
cress growing on the back of my hand black and white telly hippo and car parts.
There you go. A bit of night writing for you. I never said it was polished (or even good). I’m practising abundance right now. Feed back what you want.
x
Stefanie Moore 