Feature writer Cat Hepburn - Poet
Her Nice’n Easy
brassy, yet
somehow
classy mane
flows almost
down to her bum,
straightened to within
an inch of its life
with an iron
borrowed from her mum.
The smell of Impulse ‘Why Not?’
and burning hair on brown paper
surrounds her in a potent haze.
She stays up late,
smokes B&H ciggies
out her window,
and when her mum
and stepdad go away
she has the sickest empties.
An open-minded
and sparky
only child,
she’s allowed
to go pretty wild.
She has two pet mice
she named them Britney and Christina.
Her belly button is pierced twice.
Every fourth-year girl
is desperate to be her.
His family is
comparatively
rudderless,
sadly motherless;
his house is built
with bricks of
testosterone
and denial.
His brothers spend
most of their time
pumping iron
and bragging about
pumping birds.
They are pure tough
guys,
a wee bit of rough
guys,
number 1
buzz cut,
knuckles cut up
from scrapping
at the weekends
guys.
He’s not like them;
he’s softer,
sweeter,
a decent boy
with his head screwed on.
He doesn’t get satisfaction
from headbutting
a random to
shut him up!
He thinks
girls are special,
not
skanky little sluts.
She
paints on her confidence
with lip-gloss ease;
the V
of her thong
sprouts from the back
of her tight black
scousers
like blooming lilacs
in summer.
But, best of all,
she’s not daft.
She answers questions
in class
with intelligence
and sass.
The very knowledge
of her presence makes
his blood pump faster
to places that he really
wished it wouldn’t.
It cuts through
paper aeroplanes
and laughter.
Sharing a maths
classroom
with her is
pain and pleasure
in equal measures.
He does not
talk
about his feelings;
he’s learnt from the best
to internalise them.
He has
anxiety,
but there’s not a
word for it yet;
that will come way later,
in his thirties,
when he goes to therapy
every second Tuesday
like the rest of his arty
middle-class pals.
She’s the one
who asks him out
and he’s shocked;
he can’t believe his luck.
The prettiest girl in school
wants to hook up.
And in a few weeks
they go from messaging
every day
to kissing to s
econd base,
then S-E-X,
high on young love
and exploration,
every chance they get:
in her bottom bunk bed,
next to the flower beds
by Aldi,
back row of the cinema
watching that new film
Alfie.
He doesn’t wear a johnny
’cause his brother Jonjo
says
it’s like
showering wi’ a raincoat on.
Dinnae bother, mate;
it’s bareback or nothin’ at aw.
Then two
little blue
lines
come along
and spoil
all the fun.
She’s fifteen
and has dreams
of going traveling
and then to uni,
so there’s no question
about what to do.
The word abortion
is on the tip
of both of their tongues.
She’s not ready to be a mum.
After the procedure,
he can’t find his words;
they appear to have
run away from home
with his feelings in tow.
All he needs to do is tell her
it’s all gonna be OK
but he remains
mute
not knowing what to say.
It hurts
and she’s sensible
enough
to know
that it was
the right thing,
whatever that means,
but the real sting
comes from his silence;
it screams out to her
like a void.
She feels
almost destroyed
by that boy.
His big-mouthed
bulldog wee brother finds out,
which means
so does everyone
at school;
she takes a few weeks off
to avoid the relentless
rumour mill.
Now he sees
what she’s up to
from the odd
social media post;
he muted her years ago
but he still clicks
on them
from time to time.
Her hair
is now a graduated bob
and light brown
but she has that same cheeky smile.
One day he sees a photo
of her on Instagram;
she’s beaming,
holding a picture
of her twelve-week scan.
By her side
is the soon-to-be-dad,
a tall,
sandy-coloured man
with a beard
and a beanie hat.
It makes him realise
that he hadn’t
treated her
in the way
that she deserved;
they were trying on
adulthood
like ill-fitting
baggy suits
that didn’t suit them,
adolescents
with no direction
and too much affection
and hormones
and he was a prick.
Would
or could
she ever
forgive him?
He badly wants to
reach out to her,
to tell her that now
he is all grown up,
he has found his words,
and that his brothers
were a bunch of dafties,
and that he hopes
that she’s happy
and knows that she
was his true first love
and he thinks about her lots.
His thumbs are poised
like stalemate snakes
to write all of this out
in a DM
but he just gives the photo
a like instead.
Cat Hepburn's new book "Dating & Other Hobbies" is a collection of female-centred poetry and short stories. Screaming with authenticity and using toe-curlingly relatable observations on millennial culture, Cat's unashamed writing treats the reader with the honesty of a wine guzzling bestie on a night out, making it both gut-wrenching and spit-your-tea-out funny.
Confessional, uncomfortable and hilarious all at once, from regrettable one night stands, to ‘ghosting’, to extramarital affairs- no stone is left unturned.
Shining a light on the nuances of human connection and interaction in a world of digital dating and sexual exploration, Dating & Other Hobbies provides a truly unique celebration of early adulthood, and all the beautiful mess that comes with it.
"As engaging on page as she is on stage, Hepburn consistently outdoes herself with courage, grace and humour"
Darren 'Loki' McGarvey
"Hits like an espresso martini served in a library by a doctor of
philosophy dancing to Lady Gaga"
Phill Jupitus
"Witty, gorgeous, genital-warts-and-all" Kirstin Innes
+447949483790 | cathepburn.co.uk | @CatHepburnWrite | Rep'd by Sayle Screen
Comments