Since we’ve met
I think since we met I may have encouraged
a small amount of nothingness
It’s not your fault, it went through you like
invisible. You could be a mixture of girls
I’ve only known through friends or the
telly and even though you live in a shithole
You arrive at parties looking fabulous.
What is your secret, your mysterious other
life. Do you know so many that they are
just movies stills? I mean I roam around
at work with jumper marks in my face, all
because I slept on the couch again, If I slept
on the couch through childhood I would be
infernally bent legged by now and a serial
killer in training.
I know marriage
with you will
Be swerving the mundane traps that
Other couples fall into; that you plan
To keep things spontaneous only by
The way you see things but the pressure
Of you’re marvelous river filled brain
makes me distant because you can find
another person at a gallery opening.
but even the voice of the policeman
was soft and you knew not
much could be done, it
is not because I want it perfectly
it is because I want it clean,
even playing field so that the
time we seriously considered
buying tropical fish,
something happened.
Sarah Chapman is twenty-four years old, started writing poetry two years ago and lives and works in the rough part of London. Her poems have appeared in Pomegranate, Spilt Milk, Clutching at straws, Fade Poetry Journal, Cadaverine, 3am magazine, Scrambler, Etcetera and Cake Magazine with forthcoming poems to appear in SSYK and a forthcoming chapbook published by Red Ceilings Press.