Laurie Bolger
Girl, Hotel Mirror
In a hotel mirror, a woman
is snogging her own face.
News reporters gather,
shout things like: what about other peoples faces?
Without looking away
she shakes her head
I only want this one —
People begin to talk
people always talk.
She been there ages,
she must be pretty smelly by now —
It’s all just an act — look at her
too big for her boots —
That’s a woman on the edge right there —
says a man sipping a tiny espresso to a clock.
Her hair! — say some women.
I mean, what does she live on?
People send trays of patisserie,
another patisserie m’am —
the maid tweets but the woman is too busy
she counts each eyelash, each chin spot
likes the way her face looks when she cries —
that’s a woman on the edge, right there, says a man
eating his ham and lifting a tiny weight.
The girl ate a cake once
everyone wanted to know about it.
Some people say they remember her from school
— always was a bit of a drama queen, says a man.
One day she decides it’s time — holds out one arm —
the maid delicately places a small slice of custard on her palm
pop, in it goes. The woman sings. The maid joins in.
Laurie Bolger is a London based poet and playwright. Her work has featured at Glastonbury Festival, the Royal Albert Hall, TATE, Sky Arts and across various BBC platforms. She is currently working on her second collection of poetry, Call Me Lady.
To discover more content exclusive to our print and digital editions, subscribe here to receive a copy of The London Magazine to your door every two months, while also enjoying full access to our extensive digital archive of essays, literary journalism, fiction and poetry.