Issue 32: James Dufficy

The Cardinal

Thousands of holidaymakers

Stranded in the clouds …

It’s a lot of money just for a prank—

But what’s money if they die laughing?

Thousands of British pound sterling

Raining down in fives, tens, twenties …

The wings of my long scarlet coat—

In the air like the sleeves of a cardinal.

Love in Hand

A chicken in each fountain.

Loose change for every pot pie.

His sausage fingers reach in

And are scalded … love is bland.

Coca-Cola gushing fountain.

Two box-cars in every garage.

I crushed hard between the buttons—

We all did … love in hand.

Metropolitan

I look away when

The female of the species

Applies her war paint

Or feeds her young.

When the men

Reach for the sky

With their phones

To catch a falling

Illumination.

Helpless, without memory,

Which they consider

Limitless, etc.

Stable Cottage

Tottering down your narrow hall,

Brushing all the pictures off the wall.

That one of sunrise … or sunset?

Abstract … representational?

You can’t just leave things to an artist.

Teetering at the top of the stairs,

On the point of collapsing into carpet

Or gentle, mindful concrete.

Nobody eats round a table anymore

And certainly not a brown one such as this. 

James Dufficy lives in London and works as a copy editor for Developmental Medicine & Child Neurology, a monthly journal published by the Mac Keith Press. Recent poems have appeared in Whisk(e)y Tit Journal and The Gay & Lesbian Review.

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