In my skull


My skull is an occupied

sofa. When someone
makes a home in your head—
no room for poems.


Rachel McAlpine

I’ve got a poem


I’ve got a poem half written
like I’ve got a new lover
and I don’t want to say who he is

Wherever it is, the poem is the centre
of the room. All the time
I am making the bed, going for a jog,
taking a shower,
the poem rings.

Can it wait? What’ll I say?
A thin flame runs up my legs.

On the bus I think of other poems.
Now I have six half-written.
I am a slut
with petrol in my hair.


Rachel McAlpine