Meg Cox – three poems

Baba Ganoush

Of a weekend you can see her dancing,
in clubs and pubs with a bit of space.
Always in her own exotic world
of garish clothes bought
from charity shops – mirrored Moroccan red
and blue – and it’s not really belly-dancing,
just her own idea of who she is,
her untamed breasts and wild dark hair,
silver bells on her ankles,
and sand between her toes.
We call her Baba Ganoush;
round here she’s a legend.

Sometimes It’s a Quiet Poem

like the sweep
of the willow in the wind
beyond the hedge

or the movement
of the tail of my dog
when I smile

it could be
a petal falling from the jug
of yellow tulips

or the snow
on the window after dark
rain on a pond

the ember
that falls in the log burner
behind the glass

it might be
the last sight of him at the corner
when he didn’t look back

or a cloud covering the sun.

Second Person Personal

It must have been around dusk
when you were strolling home
the last half mile from the tube
along empty Willesden streets
the Plane trees glowing green
with a blackbird mistaking
the street lights for day
and singing loudly above you
that you think
you are being followed
and you pick up speed
but when the stalker shuffles his feet
too close behind you
you swing round and shout at him
you should know better
and how dare you
and I know where you live
you bastard!

Meg Cox lives in Herefordshire and mostly reads and writes poetry. She has been published in several magazines and reads her work at open mics. In 2014 she had a chapbook published, Looking Over My Shoulder at Sodom, by Grey Hen Press.


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