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
DRAG
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.
