It's a shame, isn't it, to have to rat on your neighbours? Upsetting
to find out that both your husband and the dog have been telling you
lies? And I hate to be the one to tell you this, but there are bad
people everywhere, at large, going about their business. Financial
insolvents on online-dating sites, contortionist plumbers with a point
to prove, and a bloke named Barry, from Halifax, who is singlehandedly
ruining the livelihoods of perfectly legitimate psychics.
It's not all bad news though, there are sham marriages to look forward
to, ducklings to be held captive by, and that dog, well, you can always
put him up for sale. Life, I'm afraid, is based on nothing more than
slippery moorings, and this debut pamphlet breaks the bad news with
humour and a twist of darkness.
The poems in this collection erupt with beauty and emotional
resonance. These are graceful meditations on human relationships with
each other and with themselves. The voice of the poet is strikingly
unique, but there are also moments when it seems to be coming from
within us, from the place of personal wonder: 'Outside a wood-pigeon
coos monotonously / its slung together nest is hidden from view, / just
like your knickers are, mostly, / and your feelings about your
mother.' - Romalyn Ante, co-judge of the International Book &
Pamphlet Competition
