Paul Stephenson 71
Paul Stephenson
Lip Service (Le Serveur de Sèvres-Babylone)
The mouth enquired politely if I planned on eating in. The mouth
fetched me a glass of water. I put my money where the mouth was.
The mouth gave me change and handed me my receipt. The mouth
smiled. Then the mouth looked away, turned around, walked out.
The mouth sheltered from rain beneath the red canopy. The mouth
shivered in a black tee shirt, wrapped its arms around its shoulders.
The mouth tapped a cigarette, flicked a zippo lighter. The mouth
drew hard, through the glass inhaled five times fast, flicked its butt.
The mouth, I could taste its tar, its foul-lovely smoke. The mouth
tried to hide it caught my stare, used its fingers to brush its hair.
The mouth took its apron, tied a bow behind its back. The mouth
was new. Later that day, the mouth was forced to ask what to do.
The Hymn of Him
The app of him, the bop of him, the cap,
the cop of him, the cup of him, the dip;
the fop of him, the gap of him, the hip,
the hop of him, the jip of him, the lap.
The lip of him, the map of him, the mop,
the nap of him, the nip of him, the pep;
the pip of him, the pup of him, the quip,
the rap of him, the rep of him, the rip.
The sap of him, the sip of him, the sup,
the tap of him, the tip of him, the top;
the VIP of him, the whip of him, the yap,
the yep of him, the zap of him, the zip.
The ship of him, the shop of him, the sh’up,
the chap of him, the chip of him, the chop.
Paul Stephenson grew up in Cambridge. He took part in the Jerwood/Arvon mentoring scheme and has three pamphlets: Those People (Smith/Doorstop, 2015), The Days that Followed Paris (HappenStance, 2016) and Selfie with Waterlilies (Paper Swans Press, 2017). He blogs at paulstep.com.