January Air


Standing outside in the crisp January air the flick of your lighter the crackle of my cigarette paper burning.


Has anyone ever told you you look just like Bernard Sumner?


A firm shake of your hand in a leather glove touching my fingerprints which the biometric system will not authorise.


You continue your small talk while I stand imagining your gloved fingers forcefully fingering me.


Walking back on a carpet of blue spruce needles and cigarette butts I start craving marzipan.


You left early with a migraine. ZOE WARREN


The Taxidermist


Magpies are kleptomaniacs put here by Satan to collect the diamond encrusted vocal cords of the morning chorus.


You take another sip of red wine and start humming to The Smiths.


Chaffinches and green woodpeckers stare stony eyed from their glass cabinets I spot another hat stand.


Lighting your umpteenth clove cigarette you start talking about turkey giblets I trace the engraving of Pan in the mahogany sideboard with my eyes.


4


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