Nicola Bray: Featured Poet

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Blue Concrete

I mean it starts off small as a pillowcase,
the slow unmaking of a bed,
creases in an argument –
the way it is when things go wrong and suddenly
a ripped sheet’s as good as slamming a door –
there’s a good deal of movement in this row.

When you describe the gypsy man
you say he has no teeth, I don’t believe you –
anyway, call it what you will,
your pre-fuck discussion’s a shifty flyer –
that gypsy bloke’s legging everybody over.

I don’t have a word for love,
if that sounds twee, make sense of moons
make sense of me cast from blue concrete
but not here, not in this grubby motel –
sometimes I surprise myself!

I should never have booked La Marinade,
but the overriding need to compartmentalise
is counting in salami slices
opening doors a kilo lighter
and the place is empty except for the rang tang
of last night’s pans.

You appear wiping your hands on old reviews.
I couldn’t leave – I mean what if I’m the only diner
leaving you to cut your throat
over 28 day old steak… breaking my heart.

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Nicola Bray lives in London with her partner, five sons and menagerie of cats and dogs. A graduate of the Royal Holloway Creative Writing MA, she runs poetry groups on acute psychiatric wards and recently launched a hospital magazine which she edits. Her work has appeared in various magazines.