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 … Continue reading A poem by Amy Ekins