Smallpox by Alfonso Colasuonno

I am not a silent poet

The guy with the

nice fancy suit

came into the

pizza parlor

vegan

gluten-free

no grease

death or anything

that would stain

that would mark

that would kill

and boy was

he good looking

such a square

jaw and impeccable

dress and golden

boy of a voice

and the mexican

behind the counter

told him that

a slice was

five dollars

and the man

with the square

jaw and impeccable

dress and golden

boy’s voice

stormed

out ranting

about how

his ancestors

kicked your

ancestors

ass but that

man had a heart

he spared the

smallpox laden

blanket this

time

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Ferries by Antony Owen

I am not a silent poet

Ferries across Hillsborough
were rivers of driftwood hoardings,
severed wavelets of siren blue
surfaced on drowned chests.

..
The doorways of leppings lane
housed dilated occupants
a theft of borrowed belongings
like fronds in flaccid liver birds.

..
Assess the foundations
a girl carried once in her Ma
carried twice to rest on her Da,
crumbling on raised earth.

..
There’s a pea that crushed the whistle’s throat,
a silence freed from working class memorials
they dug for decades with shards of an hourglass
unearthing the vital minutes.

..

This poem, about the football fans killed at Hillsborough, was published in Antony’s collection with Hesterglock Press Margaret Thatcher’s Museum. It’s a book which should be on all bookshelves.
You can get it from:
https://hesterglockpress.wordpress.com/antony-owen-margaret-thatchers-museum/ 

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#fear

sonja benskin mesher

‘ i was scared of saying it, telling it, so

long. only recently shared it. they seem

to like it ‘

yes.

‘do you like it?’

yes. i like it too.

‘will i be scared again though?’

yes.probably.

sbm.

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