‘Mercy’ by Kathy Pimlott

  I dream forgetfully, retain just a suggestion of something thwarted. My husband dreams of murder, all hands-on: noose, bludgeon, knives. He’s under orders to kill, demurs, he says, in vain. This is a man who dispatches prolapsed chickens, mice, once a muntjac fawn half-garrotted on a wire fence, a man who salts ox tongue, the great muscle sitting outside five days in a big … Continue reading ‘Mercy’ by Kathy Pimlott

Two poems by Kathy Pimlott

    As You Are 90, I Must Be 65 There’s something wrong with the guttering: it could be nests. When it rains cataracts drown the geraniums. This is one problem. Another is the rockery, overrun by Creeping Jenny and saplings which would become a forest left to their own devices. Someone stole the lilies-of-the-valley, and the heathers, which promised so well, have disappeared. The … Continue reading Two poems by Kathy Pimlott

‘Five Unusual Things’ by Kathy Pimlott

    You open the quarter-lights, get out of the car. ‘Five minutes’ you say ‘and while I’m gone, look for five unusual things’. And I’m alone on a back street of workshops and offices. No-one appears. There are no balloons, no burglaries. Nothing disturbs the street. Two thirds up the warehouse wall the brick course swivels ninety degrees, three fanciful rows and then back … Continue reading ‘Five Unusual Things’ by Kathy Pimlott