Mugged
I am
indulging my personal
peck-u-lee-ahh
frissons of
frivolous
non-sensical
expectations.
I will
stir the froth on my coffee with
a short-ish-bread
then dip
my finger in and
curl and lift
and lick.
I will
sing some
Wonka
as you pass
my blue beret
(you will remember)
this is aworldofpureimagination.
I will
pretend
that
you
don’t
care
at all.
I will
know.
There, is, comfort in my head.
There, is, knowledge in this denial.
There, is an embrace in every spontaneous smile.
There is a decadence in brushing your teeth with warm water (…be kind…)
because anything else
makes no sense
or is just
plain bizarre.
BOONWRITER 
This has a touch of randomness to it that i like
This is delightful, Kiersty. The gold is rightly yours. Your podcast is proof positive of that. Thank you.
Oh no I don’t think I took the gold Brad – you applied yours to own it and I think it’s brilliant.
I was sure I wrote a long comment on this poem but maybe it was one the podcast (which has disappeared). It is very different from your usual work, there is something haunting and sustained in it. A different tone which lurks behinds the words. The concreteness of the physical image of stirring the coffee dissolving into a world of pure imagination reminds me a lot of the extended Gypsy podcast where she appears and the disappears leaving him alone on the beach. (That is an extraordinary extended narrative in verse and would make a great performance.) And the ending with bracketed (..be kind..) leaves the poem balanced as though there was fear of some other possible outcome. It is in the delicacy and precision of the structure, the kind of architecture of meaning, where each stanza seems to support the other that there is an undeniable beauty. It is a poem of great grace.