Mutton Rolls. Arji Manuelpillai
Mutton Rolls
Arji Manuelpillai
Published by Out-Spoken Press,
Unit 39, Containerville
1 Emma Street
London, E2 9FP
All rights reserved
© Arji Manuelpillai
The rights of Arji Manuelpillai to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library.
This book is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Out-Spoken Press.
First edition published 2020
ISBN: 978-1-9160468-7-0
ePub ISBN: 978-1-8380211-0-8
Artwork: Zoe Norvell
Printed & Bound by: Print Resource
Typeset in: Adobe Caslon
Out-Spoken Press is supported using public funding by the National Lottery through Arts Council England.
Acknowledgements
These poems belong to all the people who inspired and assisted me along my journey. Firstly, my family for all their support. Anna for putting up with me, Sophia Nicholson for her thoughtful eye, BPMoore for the support. To all the tutors who gave up their time and energy to push me forward, especially Hannah Lowe, Wayne Holloway-Smith and Jonathan Edwards. Also thanks to groups including Malika’s Poetry Kitchen, Stanza with Alice Hiller and The Poetry School; the moment I realised poetry was a team game was the moment the poems began to fly. Finally special thanks to the Jerwood/Arvon mentorship and to Out-Spoken Press for believing in me.
Table of Contents
Cecilia says we’re all fucked up
after the Sri Lankan bombing that kills 360 (after the 20 year war that killed significantly more)
obviously my girlfriend is the best
S. S. Industries (after the ’83 riots)
because it’s in the Lonely Planet top five places to visit
someone pretended to be me
filled my details out online
intercepted the card as it arrived
and went to Morrisons. Someone
in a red sweater, NY cap
black jeans, pink socks
spent 200 quid on
groceries I imagine, booze
toothpaste, noodles, coco-pops
definitely leeks and potatoes
for a leek and potato soup
(crème fraîche to stir in)
that someone then caught
the bus, the 343 perhaps, went
to that Peckham café
on the white side of Peckham
sat on a shared table
had a tea and carrot cake
read the paper, leant
back in their seat
so their hands fell to their sides
and the lady to the right
casual as breathing
pulled her handbag close
It’s 4am in a balmy Greek heat
four brown corduroy-coloured boys
are failing to get laid
in the ‘getting laid’ capital of Greece
they suck tulip-topped spliffs
sip the backwash of cheap vodka
talk cool (as brown boys do)
of not being bothered
their white friends, ‘fucking ‘ave it’ mottos
are banging bedheads, curling tongues
sprinkling raindrops on necklines
but brown boys are not bothered
they have spent many nights
clumped in clubs, next to girls
who call them reliable and sweet
who they lead like helpful theatre ushers
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