Three Poems by Michaela Coplen

Chicken

Benched in the park on a scorching
day. The men walking past are removing
their eyes. I’m eating fried chicken.
Streaked chin, salt thighs — destruction
is a relish. How a fed cat hunts
for sport. As a girl, my father
took the injured hens behind a door.
(Isn’t that how it normally goes,

the death stroke out of sight?)
Out here, I can’t be
cowered. If he wants to shout
let him make a scene — if he still
wants a fight then he knows
where to find me, he’ll have to
meet me outside like a man.

Perspective

There is one window into this room;
it runs parallel to my side of the bed.
Sometimes at night a light comes in.
Lying head-to-head, I see his face

with a certain clarity — each line a sharp
relief. Depth where the jawbone
clenches. I imagine all he sees,
with the light behind me, is a darkened

shift, the outline of a form.
The minutes tick, exact. He falls asleep
with folded arms. I can’t fall asleep
when the light is shining. Even if I

draw the shade. Even if I close my eyes
like fists, board the window up.

210 to Finsbury Park

The thing about being hard to please
is people stop trying
to please you. Empty gardens
face the street, exhausted —
nothing grows. I want the most
out of everything, suck marrow
from the bone, draw out a length of time
like a suggestive silhouette. It’s winter
and the streets are open, glittering
with grit. The couple stepping on the bus
are flushed, mid-whisper-fight. To her
I never know what to say
he says: Say what you like.
Pleasure
requires focus. Inaudible, snow
drifts. In the window
slow, improbable
tomato seedlings inch.

Michaela Coplen is an American poet living in London. Her debut pamphlet, Finishing School, was published by ignitionpress in 2022. Her poems have been published in The Atlantic, Rialto, The London Magazine, and Poets.org; she won the 2019 Troubadour International Poetry Prize and the 2020 York Poetry Prize; and she was included in the 2020 Best New Poets anthology. You can see more of her work at: michaelacoplen.com