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18 August 2021updated 08 Sep 2021 3:26pm

The NS Poem: Riches

A new poem by Mat Riches. 

By Mat Riches

It was the sort of wedge
that would choke a horse: two grand
in used fifties in a jiffy bag,
their waist pinched by elastic bands.

You asked me to count the lot,
then drove away to meet a man
who knew a man, and returned late
in a lime green Ford Cortina.

I thought we were made of money
when you let me sit in your lap
and we reverse parked it, my feet
pressing on your feet in the dark.

Mat Riches’s debut pamphlet is due from Red Squirrel Press in 2023.

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This article appears in the 18 Aug 2021 issue of the New Statesman, The Great Betrayal