Two Poems by Ramona Herdman

Sulk speaks

You know you want to.
Open your mouth and say, ‘FINE’.

I am the muddle-puddle you were born to.
I am wallowing wine.

I am the silence that silences you.
I am the sullen of shine.

I am a lukewarm soak that you’ll rue,
tap like a midwinter drain.

I am the bruising you’re choosing to woo.
I am a bloody bad time.

I am the rain that is raining down poo
from a skyful of jackdaws and grime.

And I am the best of the worst of you
in your dolour and drooping and whine.

I am the love that you love grey and blue.
I am a waltzing rebellion.

I am the bride with a blood-soaked shoe
who just won’t answer the question.

The moral high ground

Sure, it looks lovely up there – the bluebell haze
of dusk, the sigh of profundity in the cypresses.
Sunlit uplands where the dryads roam unmolested.

But o the arse-ache it would be to get there!
The special shoes, the stick, the snacks. And you know
Google Maps would fail you at the crucial instant.

I can just picture the patronising old fucker
(long khaki shorts, map round his neck, his father’s boots)
who’d be sent out by the authorities to find you.

Even if you ever got there, I bet there are goats
and a Travelodge with its happy hour advertised
outside on a chalkboard, in a grove of smokers.

We’ve been good girls all our lives. Prefects. Sympathetic.
We organised the office Christmas meals, taking deposits
and bringing a print-out of everyone’s pre-orders.

We took the bruised nectarine first. Washed up. It wasn’t enough.
And now the day is late. The sun knows its aches.
The upper prospect blurs like a westerly dune.

Sit down next to me, my lovely. Pour us another
and tell me all about what that bitch has done now.

Ramona Herdman’s recent publications are Glut (Nine Arches Press), A warm and snouting thing (The Emma Press), and Bottle (HappenStance Press). Ramona lives in Norwich and is a committee member for Café Writers.