Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

Listen to me. A girl likes a man who moves her. Uncertain men, they just make me uncertain.

I love White Russians. I dislike the taste of too much alcohol, though. A shot of vodka, a shot of Kahlua.

A girl likes a man who moves her. Uncertain men make me uncertain.

I can hear the table next to us, but I can’t hear you. You should speak louder, especially in a place like this. Anyway, Caucasians, Belorussians, whatever. My boyfriend prefers two big shots of vodka and a little cream, but I like a lot of cream. We both like them tall.

You want me to tell you something: I’ve had sex in every bed in my
parents’ house, except my parents’ bed.

I have two sisters, no brothers.

I gave my virginity to my friend’s boyfriend. It was my sixteenth birthday and I knew that he liked me. We were in my room, and my friend caught us. It isn’t that she didn’t mind; she didn’t care.

I got off with her that night, too. I went to church the next day, with
my family, and I stood in church and thought that God would strike me down. That was nearly ten years ago.

What? Honestly! I see your lips move, I hear a sound, but I can’t make out words.

My boyfriend says the trouble is that girls are too much like sharks. All instinct, he means by that. He thinks that he’s controversial.

He asks, “If you can dress in what you want, why can’t I stare at what I want?” He’s a monkey. He still whoops when Americans say “period”. “Titillate” titillates.

I saw a documentary on monkeys, where they’d separated the males
from the females. The females were together in one cage, and the males were away in another. The presenter didn’t say why the monkeys — chimpanzees, in fact — had been separated.

I nearly lit the wrong end of my cigarette. Look. Yeah, she stood
outside the cage with the females inside and put her finger through the wire mesh.

A chimp’s hands touched the finger, stroked the nail. The presenter
put a mirror to one chimp’s face, and the chimp considered her reflection.

Shit. I’m gonna set myself on fire. Better a hole in my skin than this
top.

They’d been through some tests. I think of the female chimps knitting. I don’t think they knitted, but you could easily imagine them at some intricate work of that kind.

The presenter walked down a path. She turned a corner. Of course,
she dare not put her finger through the male chimpanzees’ cage. I only really smoke when I’m out, actually.

Their cage was reinforced glass, in fact. A male swung from a vine, into the glass. Another balanced on a branch and hit himself over the head.

The males just hit themselves, each other, and masturbated, and sprang into the glass. Honestly! Can you hear me?