My Son the Cockroach has always had an eye for the ladies. I told him, ‘They’re not screaming at you, at least not in the way you seem to imagine.’ He’s the colouring of Achilles and his daftness too. They say those copper curls stood out in battle, that and his swingeing blade. My boy’s no swordsman but protection is important and we’ve a … Continue reading Two poems by Chloe Balcomb