Ian McRae is a friend, a Slate worker, a gifted poet, and a member of the Cambridge Poetry Club. He appreciates feedback,  positive or negative. His poems will be appearing here on my blog every Monday morning. Thanks so much for reading his work. He’s got the magic and is trying to figure out where to take it. I hope we can support him; he’s worth it.

I’ve known Ian for five or six years now, and we’ve fought with each other for most of the time. He has a thicker head than I do. I love him simultaneously. There is a real talent in Ian, and through his wall of humility, he is beginning to see it. I think you will also.

I’m very proud to see his beautiful poetry on my blog every Monday. If you like it (or if you don’t), please let him know that people are watching and seeing is work. Encouragement, like empathy, is a precious human thing.

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He writes: “Thank all you kind people for the comments. It’s great to receive feedback, whether positive or negative. My e-mail is [email protected].”

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Banshees and Black Dogs, a poem by Ian McRae

As the fuel pump display

crawls towards the 20.00-

19.89, 19.90-

an ambulance slices

through standing rain water,

unlit and predatory

and I am cold, and I think

of a woman I stuck to

like an engorged tick-

the first thing she would do

after peeling the cellophane

from a pack of cigarettes

was to take the first one out,

flip it, and cram it bent

back in.

“Why do you do that?” I asked,

and though I didn’t really care,

she told me that it was good luck 

and she always did it

and she wouldn’t use a white lighter

because Jimi Hendrix was dead,

and the liquor went bad

if you didn’t drink it

and I believed that she believed

these things,

though I wondered if she would believe them 

if it made her ugly,

and all the same 

her good luck

didn’t stop me

from bumming a smoke

while I still had one

in my coat.”

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By Ian McRae

[email protected]