Laura’s Room
It’s cold in Laura’s room.
The curtains are drawn, but there
is no window behind them,
only the shapes of bricks
drawn by hand on the wall.
No carpets; only a handful
of dirty rags festering on dry boards,
where you find comfort
how you may. You study
the art of waiting when no-one
is expecting your call.
Nothing can be read
in the few simple stains
high on the four plain walls.
No furniture need comfort you,
no light need detain you.
You enter the same way a fly
enters an empty bottle, in Summer,
perhaps from hunger
or curiosity, or restless after a thaw.
It should be quite simple
to fly your way out, should flight
be needed. The door is never locked
when Laura leaves the room.
21
She’s 21
looks good naked
got a boyfriend/girlfriend
sex when she wants it
says she’s going to Australia soon
maybe take the bus
work for an hour or two
sleep on the beach
naked under stars
naked as she
drink down the years
shower under a waterfall
grow fat like a walrus
have three or four kids
she’ll never see again
collect men like syringes
die on the beach
in the middle of summer
says you don’t have to bury me
just fold me away
I’m 21;
forget about the rest.
Ian Mullins bails out from Liverpool England. His collection Laughter In The Shape Of A Guitar was published by UB (undergroundbooks.net) in 2015. He has published poems and stories with Purple Patch, Neon, The Journal, Mad Swirl, Clutching At Straws, Hellfire Crossroads, The Literary Hatchet and many more.
Bindweed Magazine 