2 Poems

Two poems, ‘Marking Time’ & ‘A Young Man Daydreams About Saving A Woman From Certain Death’ were published – with comic book illustrations – in ‘Century City: Poetry Comic.’ Sadly, the comic book is no longer available. Here are the two poems:

Marking Time


Sunday morning, 3am.

I’m drinking wine

with a woman called Mary,

or Marie, somewhere in

the Holylands.


Drunk, she slides off the settee,

one arm held skyward–

waving an unlit fag

like a flag of defeat.


I pluck if from her fingers,

light it & pass it back.

She looks at me contemptuously,

blows smoke into my face.


She tells me she prefers younger

men, says I smell too much like death.

I tell her I have a fungal infection &

can put my shoes back on if she wants.


She stares at me for what seems

like five minutes or more.

The ash from her cigarette

crumbles to the floor.

She absentmindedly rubs it into

the carpet.


As I wait

for the next thing to happen

I play with my lighter,

watching as the flame

burns from orange to blue.



A Young Man Daydreams About Saving A Woman From Certain Death


The young man moves up beside her

as she waits for the lights

to change,

glimpsing her profile for

the first time.

Until now he has only been

captivated by the rhythm

of her arse

beneath the knee-length skirt,

& the shyness implicit

in the hesitant swing

of her arms.

She turns her face toward him,

looks beyond him to the lines

of traffic waiting.

Her face is blank & open, she

wears black-framed glasses

& has a mouth that looks like

smiles don’t come easy.

She smells of warmed-up

perfume, a scent that

reaches out & draws him


He begins to fantasise that a stolen car

suddenly mounts the pavement

& lurches towards her.

He moves like an

athlete, fast & auto-

matic. His arms encircle

her waist & he pulls

her from its path.

Then they are falling

in a jumble of limbs, her

glasses spinning through

the air. He lands on top

of her. She squints

up from beneath him.

Then she smiles, a smile

that comforts him. & her

eyes tell him that

he is worthy of her

gaze. He may not

be handsome,

he may not be dark,

but he is a hero— a knight

in shining armour

now & for always.

The lights change.

The woman begins to

cross the road.

He walks behind her &

slightly to the left,

trying to move silently

in case the rattle

of his armour

betrays his presence.



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