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Golden Square

By: Carole Morin

About The Poem

I had pneumonia just before zombie apocalypse started and go on a daily walk around Soho, where I live, often stopping in Golden Square, where the table tennis tables remind me of my friend Harry, who died recently; and was obsessed with ping-pong.

The Poem

The man with no face
On next bench to
Queer who lives here
Major Tom is dead
My face is pale

A woman with orange hair
And a big beak
Tap taps with
Her impatient foot
Waiting for
My boyfriend

The tables are caged
To prevent playing
But I prefer
As tribute to Harry
who worked near here
Now in Heaven
Thrashing God
at ping-pong

My boyfriend appears
As I’m leaving
A quick smoulder
Over his shoulder
Then he opens his skag
Bag and deals


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