Michael Conley

Hope Man

Come on, you must remember the Hope Man!
The Hope Man, his little motorised cart! 
Door-to-door with those little parcels of hope
in those tuppence-each greaseproof paper wrappers?

I can’t believe you don’t remember the Hope Man!
Last Sunday of the month, usually after teatime,
come on, those little greaseproof wrappers 
that little motorised cart chugging along! No?

Hope Man’s here, mum shouts from upstairs
and all the kids rushing out with their pennies,
all the family gathered round the kitchen table
as dad cut the twine with his Stanley knife.

Sometimes, unlucky, a dropped parcel
on the pavement by the neighbour gatepost
and the hope spilled out, greying
but all week you’d still skip as you passed it.

If we’d known, we might not have allowed it.
The things the Hope Man did were indefensible.

Going Swimming With The Tremendous Legislator

 When the invitation drops onto one’s hall carpet
one does not refuse.  So at daybreak we sardine the kids
into the back of the people carrier and hightail it three hours
out to Moon Lake. On the journey we tell the kids they must 
swim politely, must not honk or screech, must not, out loud, 
compare the texture or colour of His belly to boiled Weisswurst,
His nipples to pinto beans. We make it very clear to the kids
that if they say anything negative at all about His body 
there will likely be snipers, excellent ones, in the trees
who will relish any opportunity to blow their little heads off.

He is already in the water when we arrive, His entourage
lined up in suits along the shoreline. He doesn’t speak to us,
barely looks at us, just ploughs through His fussy breaststroke
with His funny smile. The trees sparkle with gunmetal and blossom.
Afterwards, there’s not even a buffet, not even the ghost of a pork pie. 
Still, the kids end up really liking Him, and chatter all the way home. 

The following week, when no repeat invitation arrives, 
they are upset, and blame us. We remain ravenous.

Michael Conley is a poet from Manchester, UK. His poetry has been Highly Commended in the Forward Prize. His latest pamphlet, ‘These Are Not My Dreams And Anyway Nothing Here Is Purple’ was published by Nine Pens in 2021.