High Horse

ORANGE WINE AND CIGARETTES


Any evening would be seduced 
by such soft awnings.

I read from an old book 
about flowers.

You want my picture, 
but not if I’m looking.

For some silent reason, 
I pose a threat—
you want me kneeling.

It’s not enough 
to make my cunt wet. 
You want my eyes wet too.

As if in service to a god, 
you drive the night
to a terminal Amen,

turn out my pockets 
then disappear—

my little things exposed 
to the cruellest light.  
 





WINTER 


I let it kill things. I stop replying 
to men who don’t mean it.

How did I get this far 
without asking for anything?

I thought if I never asked, 
someone would notice my need.

Thought my landlord wouldn’t raise the rent 
if I muted anything resembling rage. 

Like soup on the stove, 
I let my feelings reduce
 
until there’s nothing to eat— 
for me, or anyone.
 




NOTES FOR SPRING


Hoarding floral mugs 

Facing the rain 

Buildings fade to grey 

I listen 

for the soft music of bath foam

I need healthier obsessions 

Book title: Sulk 

I could go dark mode for a while

The birds are quieter 

than this time last year

Consider the chrysalis—

short-term coffins

self-made
 

Poppy Cockburn is a writer based in Margate, UK, where she runs the literary event series ‘Is it Dirty?’ Her debut poetry collection, Naked Oyster, was published by If a Leaf Falls Press in 2025 and a second collection is forthcoming later in 2026. She has a cat.