Sex Lives of the Potato Men

by Walker Zupp, edited by Rebecca Parkinson


‘I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time,’

I said half-soaked outside the pub. This time

It was true but truth being what it is,

It came at the end of a day

When workers roam in their weak-kneed way

And there is nothing more good to say

To anything, anyone; hers or his,


Mine or theirs: a halfhearted reception

To any feeling made flesh; collections

Of people who all feel second to none,

Making things up as they go. Lies

Tell so well; fact paralyzed

Undoubtedly, it all flies

When they pull the blanket over the sun.


And inevitably amongst laughter

There is anger and hate, moments after

I shut the fuck up – not at my money

Or the hatred I have for twats

In hats or anything like that,

But at the hopeless end, all sat

Inside rooms. Nothing remotely funny


At all – paper in the bin.

That photograph on the wall.


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