Crooked Hands

Vines

Jemma lived on a quiet street

Where, as far as she was concerned,

nothing ever really happened.

The murderous husbands, jealous poets,

political scientists and manic-depressive whores,

were like the tracks beneath the train

that dropped her in London

occasionally,

where the interesting people live

And her resolutions

wrapped around

today’s tomorrows

like the vines on her legs.

she always broke free

the phone

rarely rings

but for salesmen of religion

the cracks in the wall

the men on her shoe

were like a subtle sorry game

and her resolutions….