Smoking With Crohn's

By George Chopping

Unbound's very first poet publishes his 'best of' collection

Here is a taster of what is to come. A mere canapé of the digestible feast that is to follow. Bon appetit.

Glass Eye
Sat outside the Steam Packet
having a pint whilst waiting
for the traffic to die down.
Watching a mad old lady
who was sat watching me watch her.
She kept looking away
whilst taking comfort in sipping
at the frothy dregs
of her once was cappucino.
She threw some crumbs from her
hotel sized packet of Digestives
into the path of swooping Gulls.
She looked back at me looking at her
but me, pretending not to be,
quickly looked away and towards the tilted remnants
of my pint glass.
She chucked another
small handful of crumbs
into the air above the water.
Three Gulls swept down.
The last one went straight for the head,
sinking his hooked beak into her right eye
and gouging it out.
She looked back at me
looking at her, but with her left eye only,
the glass one.
“Damn birds” (she shrugged).

I wish I was a Cat
Can’t say fairer than that.
Sleeping most of the day,
winding up dogs,
pissing in litter trays.
Shitting in the soil,
-no stress,
flipping up dead mice
on my back legs,
like ping pong balls, perhaps?
Jumping from heights
and breaking the fall.
Being stroked by girls and sitting in their laps.
I just want to be a cat
-can’t say fairer than that.
I wish I was a dog.
Being taken for walks when I say,
having the house to myself
when they’re at work all day.
Pissing up lamp-posts,
shitting in the park,
-no stress,
flipping up dead cats on my back legs
like basket balls perhaps?
Being stroked by girls that I don’t know,
sniffing at their crotches
and getting away with it.

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