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New poems by Katie Lewington




I think Watson (though I have no companion)

These two know one another

This is not a first date here in McDonalds

Nor a business meeting

They wear hoodies and tracksuit trousers

They chat and laugh

Dipping fries into ketchup

Slipping lettuce from their sweet chilli wraps

Stuffing their faces

Like you would a turkey’s backside at Christmas

Quiet unseemly

Discussing names for a staffie

Titty or Gollum maybe?

Keenly I observe these creatures of Great Britain

I attempt to be subtle

In my furtive glances in their direction

I do not want my subjects to become uncomfortable

But alas they have eaten

Crinkly wrappers sullied by sauces

Grease blots the menu that tablecloths the tray

The chair’s slight cushion compression begins its slow rise upwards

They depart and I need a fresh subject.



a line, (a blue one)


Who are we to judge?


Monday chicken and chips

A Mars Bar for a snack

The alcohol and Oreos eaten Tuesday

And the endless sandwiches consumed on Wednesday

Guilt of thinking like this

Of an obsessed selfie clicking skinny bint too aware to notice

She is shrinking

And meat on the bones

Surely is what God intended

If bones were bare we won’t be fed

Hungry we wilt

Thursday is a bacon roll

                  A pastry slice

Friday chicken and chips

Fatty couple in front of me in the queue

More than meat on those bones

It will be storing around their organs too

Oh God I breathe in (mmm that whiff

Of a kebab)

Have I put on the weight yet?

Am I like them?

Am I an elephant?

Rumbling through the crowd



a line, (a blue one)




Sniffling, snuffling

Wanting to keep the snot up my nose

But it’s gathering around my nostrils

Pooling in a puddle

A wet puppy dogs nose

I would use my fingers, the sleeve of my coat

But I’m in a restaurant

Not terribly hygienic

For those aiming to eat their food without fear of a snot invasion.



a line, (a blue one)


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