@MattAbbottPoet

@MattAbbottPoet
Image © Copyright Amy Charles Media 2014

23 Oct 2013

Flat 19C - The 11.23


Jean stirs her large skinny Mocha in a daze.
She sees everything, hears everything,
smells the coffee and tastes the chocolate,
but absorbs absolutely nothing.

Her husband, always infuriated when offered milk in his Americano,
would sit there ranting into thin air;
orchestrating an impromptu game of Subbuteo
with the crumbs from his Millionaire Shortbread:

ironically allowing his coffee to go cold.

And now,
in the Costa by King's Cross,
the absence of any annoyances
completely crushes her comfort.

One hour later,
sat huddled in the vestibule,
on the 11.23 to the seaside,
an empty cardboard cup escapes her grip.

21 Oct 2013

Fucking Council


united coincidentally by reluctant routine,
separated mutually with secret understanding;
our lives, five from seven, momentarily mirrored.

avoiding acknowledgement
(acknowledgement in itself),
neither could possibly break the silence.

you lost weight, your hair grew; you smiled more.
then they closed the path for road-works,
and i never saw you again.

Flat 19A - Jean's Reflection


oil paint, red wine, masking tape.
jars of murky water.
easel, chair,
and for her self portrait, a mirror.

enraptured by the strokes upon the canvas,
adding shine to the smooth bald head;
elated during afternoon escape.

but then Jean remembers who she's painting,
and her brush hits the floor.

Flat 3C - Two Little Ducks


the warming glass of prosecco,
losing its fizz in the absence of any obvious celebration,
fulfils its newfound role between the ornaments.

mam snores softly on the sofa.
ste joins the crowd beside the quay.

maria,
who sits watching fireworks through the window,
sighs,
and ponders upon her 23rd year.