My Family and Other Superheroes by Jonathan Edwards Page B

young shifters and shifty old lifters,
    the chippies and butties, the world and his mate.
    The cash-in-hand, the big white van
    blocking natural light to the living room.
    The painters in white overalls, the strip
    they wear when drinking tea for England.
    Kelly, this week I’ve filled the house with strange things.
    Stepladders and handshakes, buckets with holes in:
    I make a wish and throw the hourly rate in.
    The settee’s on the lawn, a madman’s garden swing,
    paintbrushes take up leg room in the sock drawer
    and a hammer sneaks in with the knives and forks.
    A photo of your mother’s face down in the toilet;
    dustsheets make ghosts of the tables and sideboard.
    At ten to five they call it a day,
    promise to be here bright and early.
    I abracadabra the TV from under our old bedsheet,
    settle down to a plate of leftover digestives.
    It’s then, Kel,
    when the stars come out in the curtainless windows
    and the telly echoes through my home.
    It’s then I say your name.

Jack-in-the-Box
    Just when I think I’ve forgotten you,
    they play that song on the radio,
    or, sorting through junk, I come across photos:
    you’ve sprung up again,
    with your made-up grin, your stupid little hat.
    With a school compass I gouge and scrape,
    give you a Hitler moustache, a Glasgow smile,
    then shut you up, lock you in.
    As I’m fiddling with the matches,
    you bounce up, prettier than ever.
    I try the doll with long blonde hair,
    who’ll never give me the silent treatment
    so long as I pull that string in her back.
    But she doesn’t have your spiral-staircase neck,
    your irrepressible energy.
    I snap and show up at your door.
    You invite me in for coffee.
    In the living room, there’s a box, about my size:
    you place a hand on my head,
    push down against my suddenly springy legs.

The Bloke in the Coffee Shop
    is a bloke and where he is is yes, you know,
    a coffee shop. The bloke in the coffee shop
    is what he is; he has in front of him
    a coffee and his problems. She’s late again,
    he thinks, although he doesn’t have a watch
    and it is now, precisely. This bloke has
    problems, yes, but let’s forget all that:
    today is Saturday and not a day
    for problems. If you saw him from above,
    you’d see his hair, his coffee. You wouldn’t see
    his problems, would you? Also, you’d be tall,
    so let’s forget all that. Let us instead
    describe him. Let’s make a heroic effort,
    pin him down with a word. Now here it goes:
    dark. No, that’s his coffee. Our bloke’s hair
    is dark as well, but that’s not what I meant –
    What’s meaning, really? thinks some bloke somewhere.
    Fuck coffee, I’m off for a Guinness, I am,
    thinks the dark-haired bloke in the you-know-what,
    soon to be himself, but somewhere else.
    *
    Meanwhile, the lady walking down the street
    is in the street and walking. Walking quickly,
    but not so quick to make a liar of me.
    Her high heels make the noise they make. Her clothes
    are what she’s wearing. Sure, yes, she’s late,
    but doesn’t have a watch, or has a watch,
    but hasn’t time to check it, being late.
    How is the weather? Pissing down. Umbrellas
    hover over heads like oh-so-faithful,
    massive-winged and oh yes, somehow, handled
    blackbirds. So much for similes. Our lady’s
    just passing what she might call a boutique,
    so let’s look in the window now and see her.
    What is she like exactly? Violently
    dimpled. A handbag which contains precisely
    nothing. A heartbreaking nose that’s pointing
    at where she’s going. In short, you know, a lady:
    to see her dodge round puddles is to see her
    dosey doe. She makes a bloke a bloke
    who’s sitting in a coffee shop and waiting.
    *
    Who’s thinking he’s been stood up, actually,
    so what he is is getting up and leaving,
    thinking his thoughts – that’s not your thoughts, his thoughts –
    though if you saw his face now then