Cold Caller – by Samantha Roden

 

Everyone knows you
don’t knock at No.42.
The papers heaped
on every sill
threaten to make
a headline of you.

The Coca-Cola wind chime
strung with too much care
hums the diurnal drone
of the cars that slow
to make sense of the ticker tape
in the bay window.

Meals on Wheels stopped.
She insisted
they post the trays
Through the letterbox
Then microwaved the salad
For the cats.
The nice man refused to come back
after he trod in cat shit, again.

Peer through the letter box
and you can just make out
yesterday’s headline

 

 

 

Samantha Roden is a Lead Practitoner for English. Her poetry has been published in a number of journals. She is also an educational author and literary critic whose recent publications include Philip Roth Through the Lens of Kepesh, a book-length monograph available here.

Mr Beddows – by Samantha Roden

 

When my hamster went missing she said
It had probably been eaten by the cat
When I found it beneath my bed
In search of a clean pair of socks
She pointed out the fang marks on his neck
Noted the flaccid nature of his tiny form
Then slung him in a flower trough on the balcony.

When I asked her on behalf of Jamie Vaughn, Year 3
What that word meant, she led me to the sink
Split the corner of my mouth with a bar of Lux
And told me that little bastards should mind their tongues.
I belched a cunt of a bubble. Popped on her hand.
Worked it out myself.

When I asked why the toilet flushed
Of its own accord in the small hours
She said because old Mr Beddows had expired
Clutching the chain with his cords gathered at his ankles.
I slept with my back to the door she left open
That faced the black tank and mouthed to myself
Mr Beddows would have liked a daughter.

 

 

Samantha Roden is a Lead Practitoner for English. Her poetry has been published in a number of journals. She is also an educational author and literary critic whose recent publications include Philip Roth Through the Lens of Kepesh, a book-length monograph available here.