A poem by Amy Ekins


We’ll stick a pin in it

Cushion me, JK USA.
Cougars with push-pin tattoos
on crepe-paper cleavage,
towns with train-track vowels, rolling
and lazy, sun catching at the back.

Polka-dot petticoats, stuck like pie ooze
on the drop-bottom tin, cast across an inner-elbow
laced with purple jelly, jammed on the door, or
six weeks and counting, I swear, oh Lord I do swear
against the name of that baby, it’s biblical you know,
like her in that TV show with the real nice kitsch-en.

Mercy in her Cadillac, cracks on with what needs done
and suns herself on neighbours’ porches, cigarettes for torches
in the cricket-fodder fields, run dry, bone dry, get dry, got try,
baby’s crying in the aisle.
Amy Ekins is a writer based in Newcastle upon Tyne, UK. Her debut chapbook is Nonplaced (erbacce press, 2013). She has been published in a variety of fiction and non-fiction publications such as Ink Sweat and Tears, Cadaverine, StepAway, Red Fez, and The F Word, and recently graduated from MRes Creative Writing at Northumbria University, for which she was awarded the university’s fee-waiver scholarship.