Poetry by Angus Strachan

take one flecked white shell my dove
(for georgia)

a brown and cream shell-too
heat oil for it’s your birthday
crack yoke from hole
of perfect mother hen that’s me t
he stoic pan who warms to spawn
life no doubt cluck-cluck

add basil leaves sweet and tender
a pinch of pink himalayan salt
which is where I met your father you know
trekking but the old goat scampered
the old goat is why I did what I did my sweet
now our menu is forever gruel thin

add creamy goat cheese
why not
creamy cumulo white billy goat cheese
could have been his goddess the old goat
the goddess of cheesy milk goat
the goddess of immature goats that one day
might have fed tiny you

pour all my love into the buttery pan
caress my belly and croon to you
scold this virgin hen to forgive at last
but no i chose to eject
I won’t allow it
into the bin pan and all

I cannot eat on this your sixth birthday
when all I have of you is
that damn omelette
that hospitable breakfast
that damp morning
that I let them suck us both away

recognized members of the class of self

the owner of the heart that quails before a first date
those that are hidden within the realm of shadow
those secreted amid folds of mother’s material
the gentleman beneath the lather of a shave
those referred to by name in family tales
shiverers beneath a single goose bump
the suicidal reflected in slate mirrors
mythic selves portended in dreams
fading folk in sepia photographs
bogeymen below unmade beds
those who simply cannot do
the beloved and unloved
the unmentionable few
those of lost fortune
marginal winners
the unrequited
dining angels
shy dancers
adulterers
the loud
sinners
them
you
us
i

About the contributor

Angus Strachan has had poems and short stories published in a variety of online and print magazines and has also had several plays produced internationally. He has won the International James Joyce Award for dramatic monologue and is currently completing an MA in poetry at Goldsmiths University, London.

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