My cousin Vincent



I praised his gawky sketches,
Nodded once in a while
At his babbling of light,
Colour, pain and guilt,
His endless talk of beauty.

Absorbed it with good manners.

But then he claimed he was in love with me
(And my husband not twelve months dead)
So I was forced to flee.

He followed to my Father’s house
And I was afterwards told
He scorched his hand in a candle flame

To demonstrate fidelity.




Kevin Patrick McCann
Illustration Nick Victor

A new book of poems

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