2 poems by Amy McCauley

Rest of your life

walk through the city

call myself little provincial bitch

ego my ego, id my id

decide whose face I’m currently wearing

run my fingertips across marble

read graffiti like it’s a novel

want the Oxfam volunteer to fuck me

on all the dead people clothes

mistake a car skidding for a scream

mistake someone else for me

take a Zopiclone and fall through space

say no, I am not ready to embrace

the return of the peplum

say yes, the river is a stroppy God

feel the need for a myth

steal shampoo because you’re worth it

know that nothing as good will ever happen again

Orpheus looks back because betrayal is what Orpheus does

I’m too sad for rallying cries

and I’m too sad for camp, o

this city – it’s so committed to the idea of being itself!

everybody in it! so committed to the idea of being themselves! and if poetry is

a consequence of history and history is

a consequence of violence and violence is

a consequence of rage and rage is

a consequence of shame then inside every poet is

a four-chambered wound and yes, you can tell my politics by how I suck

cock because social relations are material

relations – besides, my theory about us is we’re

a pair of accidental Eurydices, so

when we get to the inevitable cocksucking it will lack

vigour, commitment, invention –

ach, my resources are exhausted! and as for you, poetry, with your

(horrible disposable feelings)

you are like a dead man sitting in the corner with his head in his hands

saying I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that to you

and the eyes roll, and the tongue wags, quick quick slow

saying I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that to you

you are like a dead man sitting in the corner with his head in his hands

(horrible disposable feelings)

ach, my resources are exhausted! and as for you, poetry, with your

vigour, commitment, invention –

when we get to the inevitable cocksucking it will lack

a pair of accidental Eurydices, so

relations – besides, my theory about us is we’re

cock because social relations are material

a four-chambered wound and yes, you can tell my politics by how I suck

a consequence of shame and inside every poet is

a consequence of rage and rage is

a consequence of violence and violence is

a consequence of history and history is

everybody in it! so committed to the idea of being themselves! and if poetry is

this city – it’s so committed to the idea of being itself!

and I’m too sad for camp, o

I’m too sad for rallying cries

______________

Amy McCauley is the author of three publications: Oedipa (Guillemot Press, 2018), 24/7

Brexitland (No Matter Press, 2020) and Propositions (Monitor Books, 2020). Amy has published poetry in a range of magazines including Magma, Poetry Wales, The Rialto, The Stinging Fly and The White Review.