A Poem by Paul Stephenson

Shrimp Saganaki

‘I really like things that straddle’ was the last phrase
that left Jim’s mouth before he ran across the road
to meet his girlfriend Lisa to catch the catamaran
to the next small island at high-speed. ‘Straddle’

was his final word as he stood up at the pavement table
unsure of paying inside or out, even of staying longer,
until he got the sudden call, and if the truth be told,
he was himself a straddler of sorts, something between

wanting to speak to us and not, somewhere between
a beard and not, between wanting a bit of adventure
but also wanting to know exactly how it’s going to be,
so he can unwind and relax once he finally gets there,

what with a gruelling job, not only his but also hers,
though just then he wasn’t gruelling but straddling,
for an hour or so, no it was less, with his paperback
by a writer I hadn’t heard of, but I’ve heard of no one,

though you had, lunch done, the shrimp saganaki
between us a straddling kind of dish with its token
two shrimp in their shell though, let’s face it, the feta
didn’t straddle, a hefty brick, and then he was gone,

going wherever he was venturing to next, with her
and his book and his confessed love of straddling but
I didn’t ask, maybe Poros, maybe Hydra, and they’d
be there soon, have sailed to where they were sailing,

to straddle a while longer, though he did say his flight
was Sunday, which means Monday would be gruelling
again for both of them, but meanwhile he’d have read
a few more pages and be a bit further along in his story.

Paul Stephenson’s debut collection is Hard Drive (Carcanet, 2023). It was shortlisted for the Lambda Literary Award and Polari Book Prize. He has three earlier pamphlets: Those People (Smith/Doorstop, 2015), The Days that Followed Paris (HappenStance, 2016), and Selfie with Waterlilies (Paper Swans Press, 2017). He co-edited the ‘Europe’ (70) issue and recent 'Ownership' (92) issue of Magma, and helps programme Poetry in Aldeburgh.