top of page

Immaculate Conception


I’m hopeful
There will be a sudden rush
Of correspondence
Into the silence
That has existed for days
It’s not been totally silent
but very quiet
With only
A message from a friend
In which she says
That she dreamt that I was pregnant
and that she had a quarter stuck up her nose.

My therapist believes
That dreams
Are the sewage pipes
For our brains
Through which we flush
Images and words down the drain.

I’d imagined
Before this counsel
That I was a bit unwell
My dreams have certainly
Me to fucking hell

If he is to be believed
These dreams of mine
Don’t forecast,
Reflect or project
My innermost demons
And they’re not scripts for sermons
And they shouldn’t
Be confused
As more than they are
My brain discarding
Things it’s decided
Should be refused

And so
From his analysis I know
I’m not cursed and
I’m not pregnant
(Or even close)
And my friend
She’s probably
Not got a quarter
Stuck up her nose

After a good laugh
My mother said
Both occurrences
Would actually be
Immaculate Conceptions
(My friend has recently
Been rather poor and
My mother mistakenly 
Imagines me
Currently pure)

Hopefully tomorrow
Will write something
Less immaculate
Somewhat more accurate
So that my mother
Won’t feel the need to note
In the guise
Of loving banter
My lack of any recent
Sexual encounter

bottom of page