Issue 16: Amy McCauley

Oedipa’s Sea Legs

Where are you sailing to they said /

shaved to within an inch

of their lives /


walking their youth

up & down the front / fingers

itching for cunt though they never

said so / paper money burning 

holes in their pockets

& their wallets

fat with Durex

& change for the same

3 songs / jeans so tight their balls

must be weeping / so much for the

future lads make mine

a schnapps &

lemonade / no ice //

you dancing they said /

well OK I said / dancing they said

as the room wobbled on its axis /

yes dancing they said

as the floor

gave way / O

dancing is the vertical

expression of horizontal desires /

drink up little one they laughed /

chin chin / & with that

CLINK / the salt-

piles got licked

& the whole thing started

again until I was drunk / blind drunk /

barely able to stand / let alone say

no / no / no / & that was as

good as saying /

yes / next thing

it’s the hard green felt of a

pool table / a tasselled ceiling fringe-

box swinging / & then / bang bang

bang / trying to remember

where I live /

only this back-

of-the-throat-Lynx / threw

me off the scent / think / think / think /

you’ve lived there for years though

it feels like bloody millennia /

think / only it

wouldn’t / come // the

bang bang bang bang chop /

ped i / t u / p i / n m / y m / i / n / d /

don’t stop us now / they said / don’t

coz we’re having such a

fucking good time

& then it

clicked / it all came back /

the address / Queen Street / old town

Jokasta Swings

What do Jokasta’s hands say?

I can hardly speak

What do Jokasta’s eyes say?

Thrill me honey don’t stop

What do Jokasta’s feet say?

It’s a honky tonk parade

What do Jokasta’s nipples say?

Why not take all of me

What do Jokasta’s arms say?

Without a love of my own

What do Jokasta’s lungs say?

I’m no good without you

What do Jokasta’s lungs say?

I’m no good without you

What do Jokasta’s lungs say?

I’m no good without you

Jokasta’s Wound

What a disappointing child you are what

a disafuckingppointment

I’d be lost

for words if

I didn’t speak so many

languages / thank FUCK I’m not a mon-

oglot like your father / I’d rather eat my

own kidneys I’d rather

drink my own

piss I’d rather

poke my own eyes out

(pop!) you / you / you poor unlovely girl

how like daddy you are / so blownapart /

your heart is such a


Amy McCauley’s poetry, essays and reviews have appeared widely in UK magazines and anthologies including: The Poetry of Sex (Viking), Hallelujah for 50ft Women (Bloodaxe), Best British Poetry 2015 (Salt), Poetry Wales, The Quietus and The Rialto. Amy’s current projects include a collection of poems (Auto-Oedipa) which re-imagines the Oedipus myth and a creative/critical hybrid work on violence, language and desire. Amy is a PhD candidate at Aberystwyth University and poetry submissions editor for New Welsh Review.

Copyright © 2016 by Amy McCauley, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.