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Kevin Higgins is the author of The Boy With No Face (2005), a
poetry collection. He was shortlisted for the 2005 Hennessy Award for Poetry and awarded a
Literature Bursary by the Arts Council. In February 2006 he will do a series of readings at
Universities in Kansas and Missouri. Kevin teaches poetry workshops at Galway Arts Centre and
is co-organiser of the "Over The Edge: Open Reading series" in Galway, Ireland.
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Betrayals
When the bombers refused to turn
into butterflies, and the Workers
went down the road chanting,
"They say fight-back!
We say cut-back!";
she put on her
stop-doing-that-now face
and counterattacked with evening
after evening of pure thoughts
and proper posture; accompanied
her gluten-free muesli
to the verandah and watched the seagulls
flying towards her;
as she took out and weighed
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The Man In The Horsham Computer Room
The day on the verge of its first Kit Kat,
when Sanity texts you to say
the grumpy old jumper you've become; and how
being forced to listen to your one man
protest against unfairness in general since
shortly before the big bang
has left her with nowhere to go
but away. By lunchtime
she's ancient history;
as you wax nostalgic on a haircut
that never was.
By close of business you've abandoned
your safety first mineral water
forever; given your worldly goods
to the undeserving poor; and changed your name
to Dionysus Jones III...
Years later, you return
from your charmed life
as a madman shouting in a toilet
to this movie in which everyone gets laid
but you. And the room's loud with the advice
about evening classes in botany
or Bavarian clog-dancing, and how
to make the most of your new job
strangling wild hogs with your bare hands;
when all you want to do is talk
about what it is, in that bit of blue sky,
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Careful Driver
He's the husband who promised the earth
but ended up giving her
a bad week in Bognor Regis.
And rather than go
where breakfast's sometimes
what remains of the sandwich
you took to bed last night, the only light a candle
made of earwax donated
by your last flat-mate but one; or perhaps
become the guy
in the yellow jumpsuit and pale blue shoes,
who always ends the night screaming
about the Confederate flag the Lady Mayoress
keeps in her attic; he lives out
the rest of his death in this wastepaper-basket.
The first man in history killed
by too much careful driving.
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