narcissus cannot see herself
in mirrors cloudy with hairspray
still
it’s hard to
vanish:
eye contact
avoid eye contact
a violin case issued by the local authority (mine)
a knee-length skirt (also mine)
i cannot be unseen.
i pluck my eyebrows
fuck, i think,
this body is a betrayal
on the back of cubicle doors
black ballpoint streams of who loves who:
kim luvs danny
bekkie luvs scott
michelle luvs tiny
gemma luvs hazi
‘i’s dotted with hearts
like the descendants of Israel
beside more vicious slurs
(“vicky t sucks cock for bus fare”)
here
the air is foggy with impulse, vanilla,
smoke
and the smell of teenage girls
is rising
thick and
sweet
Laura McDonagh is a writer living near York. She’s interested in what we mean by ‘home’, social class and the experience of the Irish in Britain. She was a member of the inaugural 2018 Rural Writing Institute and Penguin’s WriteNow programme 2020. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram @hey_laura_mc.
