Valentine- Poem by Carol Ann Duffy

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

Jeremy Kyle

Jeremy Kyle

On today’s show...

A woman here to confront her ex partner

A  man who wants to know why his family hate him

The woman who claims to have caught an STI from her husband

You text me on my phone saying Tiff B carefuL after you sent me an email saying

If u waNNa play WiTh FIRE, Ur goNNa Get BuRNt

If I waNNa play WiTh FIRE, I’m goNNa Get BuRNt

You planned a baby with another woman,

Whilst your misses was at home with your 2 kids

YES OR NO?

                                    YES OR NO?

                                                                         YES OR NO?

                                                                                                                        YES OR NO?

We asked Craig if he had ever had sexual contact with anybody else

That’s everything from a kiss to intercourse

He said NO.

HE WAS LYING

YOU DESERVE BETTER

AND HE DESERVES NOTHING

NOTHING

NOTHING

Breakfast with Tiffany

The greasy spoon café at the end of the high street serves the best breakfast in town. At 8am on a Monday morning, the place is rammed.

He waits for her to speak. They’ve been sitting there for over twenty minutes and yet neither has dared utter a word.

It’s so busy that you can’t even hear yourself think. You’re subject to listening to what Tiffany got up to on Saturday night or the three kids in the corner giving their poor mother hell. And then the guy behind the counter, student type cranks up the radio because he’s just heard a song reminding him about what he got up to on Saturday night. She was a cracker. He exaggerated big time when telling his mates about their afterhours activities but it wasn’t like he was going to be seeing her again anytime soon.

He can see the steady stream of tears running down her face. He feels the hot, salty sting on his own lips.

Tiffany howls with laughter in the corner as a group of builders in plastic, orange hats walk in. She wouldn’t say no to that one with the cheeky smile. He wants to buy her a cuppa. Eighty pence, hardly breaking the bank, she was thinking more of a full English. She spent her lunch money on fags at the offie. The Asian guy who owns the place is the only one who doesn’t ID.

He reaches across for her hand. She pulls it away as if his touch has scalded her skin.

One of the kids has broken loose from the table in the corner. Mr. Builder man hasn’t seen the little one. He’s too busy making eyes at the bird in the corner with the big tits.

He tries to meet her gaze but she averts her eyes.

Tiffany finds her tea being poured into her cleavage. Her impressive cleavage thanks to those chicken fillet things she had stolen from that posh lingerie place at the other end of the high street.

“What the fuck?!” she screeches.

Finally he breaks, demanding her attention.

Tiffany don’t give a shit that the kid is only five, she’s threatening to sue. Ranting and raving like a madwoman. The poor mum in the corner has only had three hours sleep. She can’t deal with all of this. She’ll buy Tiffany another cuppa and then they can leave it at that. But Tiffany doesn’t want another bleeding cuppa. She wants the Full English. She spent her lunch money on fags. Mr. Builder man agrees. It was him that forked out the eighty pence for the cup of tea. The poor mum sitting in the corner thinks the whole thing is ridiculous. Isn’t the guy behind the counter going to intervene?

He bangs his fist on the table.

 The student doesn’t want to get involved. He doesn’t have to. It’s eight twenty. The bus pulls up outside the greasy spoon café. Tiffany can’t afford to be late for school. Allow all of this. The builders need to get to work. The poor mum in the corner is dreading the school run. They file out silently. The guy behind the counter turns down the volume on the radio.

“I’m dying” she whispers.

Underneath the street lights

Three street lamps light up one by one.

The only three on the road.

The first one shows me your beautiful face.

The second the honesty in your eyes.

The last the declaration of love, sitting on your lips.

I stay in the shadows.

Hoping that I can hide my betrayal in the darkness.

Never Stops

A man goes into the newsagents by the tube station at Notting Hill Gate

and he picks up a newspaper

he has two minutes before his tube arrives

the girl behind the counter scans the paper

it’s platform two, heading westbound

the man puts his hand in his pocket to look for some money

money to pay for his newspaper

he is in a hurry

suddenly

he holds his hand to his chest

and he falls

As he is falling

he lets go of the coins in his hand

they fall to floor

and then the paper falls

the pages separate and flutter to the ground

as the man is falling

the tube has pulled in

there are no seats

the coins are rolling on the floor

and all the while the girl stands still

with the coins that are rolling

the pages that have separated

and the man who is dying

and she knows that she must do something

there are other people waiting

they want the next tube

platform one, eastbound

but she doesn’t know what to do with herself

she doesn’t know

where to start

There are so many things to do

with this man who is dying

these pages that are ruined

the impatient commuters

and those coins

those coins that are rolling on the floor

those coins that won’t stop rolling

because in a city

it never stops.

The Settlement

Memories and dreams,

We’ll take half a share of each.

Though I don’t want that sunny day

When you proposed on Brighton Beach.

The first time you said you loved me,

You can have that too and all.

‘Cause after this is over,

I won’t need love anymore.

You’ll be paying compensation

For the breaking of my heart.

You didn’t need to cheat to let me know

That we were better off apart.

I’ll have the kids for five days

And you can have them for two.

I’ll even throw in Friday night

If that’s not enough for you.

I’ve melted down my wedding ring

Into a beautiful diamond set.

On and by the way our holiday home,

Well I’ve put it up for rent.

Your precious antique sofa,

I’ve ripped that right in two.

Though if I’m being honest

I much preferred the one in blue.

Your DVD collection

Was too big for Royal Mail.

But don’t worry you can get them back

At the Church’s car-boot sale.

I put all your clothes in boxes

And left them at the front door.

Though I have to say I did feel bad,

When the rain began to pour.

Well I think this settles everything,

I’m happy to leave it at that.

There’s one last thing I’d like to say...

You’re an absolute twat!