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2 poems by Roy Marshall

Baby Grand

When we met in the restaurant

you were wearing a sharp suit and glossy shoes

and your voice sounded so unlike

the one I knew

that I couldn’t help but think of the piano

by the south-facing window

where, before you came in, I lifted the lid

to pick out a tune

after the waitress had smiled her consent,

its feet on dainty casters, its lacquered sheen

and steel strung bed

bathed in record-breaking summer heat

that warped each note

a fraction off key, so it wavered

almost imperceptibly, enough

to reveal the distance

between where it was

and where it should be. 


A week

after you left,

and in the shower

this ringlet,


satin wisp,

this sleek


silk thread,


this sprung

spring, lost

link, final



Roy Marshall’s books are The Sun Bathers (2013), The Great Animator (2017)

and After Montale (2019), all from Shoestring Press. An ex-nurse and sometime lecturer in creative writing, Roy lives just outside Leicester where he walks the dog at least once a day, every day of the year.


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