Amy Kinsman


when you meet god, he’s on the open mic
of the seediest bar in town and you’re slamming
down the pornstar martinis, politely declining
something quick and dirty in the nearest alley.

you didn’t come here for a cheap fuck; you just
didn’t want to see the twats you work with.

because on the weekends you don’t pretend -
even if you’re still blonde haired and blue eyed,
you tell that that your first name’s really levi
and you wanted to do your parents proud.

so much money spent on a public schoolboy
education; on ppe at cambridge, all so you could

do something with mortgages, some shit
with stocks, with acquisitions and mergers and bite
your tongue when your colleagues debate back
and forth on eugenics, laugh along when

jew is the punchline. at this bar everyone hates you,
but at least you don’t hate them and when

god calls you by your name, you pull up an extra stool.
you let him take a seat, turn to him and say
his song was great, but who’s he kidding
if he thinks he’s going to make it?

sure, he can have your last cigarette.
isn’t that song sweat, that chorus line of

fuck it all, come with me.
put those banknotes to the breeze,
to the first empty cup on the high street.
fuck the suits and haircuts.
fuck the upper-middle classes.
fuck working for the weekends.
follow me.

it begins outside, under the orange glow of a
lamp post while god smokes like he’s been doing it
since fifteen. your ted baker suit a black stain in
a crowd of charity shop jumpers and hand-me-down
boots. they’re saying what, him?

and god says yeah, him.

Amy Kinsman is a genderfluid poet and playwright from Manchester, England. As well as being founding editor of Riggwelter Press and associate editor of Three Drops From A Cauldron, they are also the host of a regular poetry open mic. Their debut pamphlet was joint winner of the Indigo Dreams Pamphlet Prize 2017 and is due for publication in April 2018.