Three Poems


In with the Shrink

He’s looking at ink-blots.


As each one’s held up

He’s asked “What is this?”

And his answer’s always

The same:


“Beautiful,” he says.


Tall as Sin

And he was one of those guys

Who likes to talk but never quite

Reaches a point:

Claimed his mother was a chicken,

Said he’d been, amongst other things,

A fish in his previous life.


Said he liked poetry.


Sucked his thumb a lot.


Most Nights

I’m just a boulder

But sometimes

(When the moon-

light’s just right)

I’m an egg.


Examine my skull.


Count the star systems.



Kevin Patrick McCann
Illustration Nick Victor

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