Jackpot
He has called for the Jackpot. It rests on his knees leaning
heavily against his braces.
In the Sarson’s pickling jar new 50p pieces clink, promising
ice cream for Sarah.
We know the rules, wait with anticipation to play the game,
knees taut:
Heads or tails?
Heads we say, and hold our breath, waiting
while he flicks the coin.
He will not let us see the coin he captures on the veins of his hand.
He looks up astonished, widening his eyes:
Mother, they’ve done it again.
Page(s) 17
magazine list
- Features
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- 10th Muse
- 14
- Acumen
- Agenda
- Ambit
- Angel Exhaust
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- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
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- French Literary Review, The
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- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
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- Magma
- Matchbox
- Matter
- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
- Moodswing
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- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
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- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
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- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
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- Poetry Salzburg Review
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- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Quarto
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- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
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