Poems by Amy McCauley (UK)

Published in issue 39 of The Ofi Press

We Said We Were Going To

make a cast of your erect penis

with plaster of Paris.

We said we would fill it with

liquid clay then listen to the replica

set, the changing of states

a five and a half inch symphony.

We said we’d remove the plaster

like a second skin and marvel

at the doppelgänger inside which

would be you, or at the very least

resemble you. We said that I would

kiss it – that you would enter me

twice, once as clay, once as flesh.

We said we’d paint the totem

gold then stand it

somewhere public, balls and all,

like some genetically modified Oscar

from another world. 

They thought I was mad when I

They told me they loved me when I

They said I glittered when I

They found me too much when I

They found me not enough when I

They took me apart when I

They threw the book at me when I

They found me distasteful when I

They went in a rage when I

They called me a shambles when I

They shut me away when I

They cut out my tongue when I

They put me on a plinth when I

They took out my eyes when I

They sewed me back together when I

They made a new version of me

They made a new version of me

They made a new version of me