The Other Infidelities
by Al McClimens
£10 (pub. 2021)

'I approached the kiosk / the way a penitent approaches St Peter. An angel took my credit card. / What time you finish? I asked. She turned the plastic over in her fingers / like she was contemplating magic tricks.’ (‘Lone Worker Policy’). Chatty and fanciful, witty and wise, these poems are moreish in the way a digestive biscuit is moreish, or the way a best friend’s latest exploits related in the pub over a pint see you leaning in, begging for more. ‘After Goldilocks ruined our lives and the social worker / 
took Baby Bear away I did a lot of drinking […
] When
the salmon returned I think that woke me up properly.’ (‘Daddy Bear’). Prepare to be transfigured.

Praise for The Other Infidelities:

“Al McClimens’ work constantly surprises me in terms of its storytelling verve and range. Each poem is beaming signals from a separate universe, following its own laws of gravity and dizzying cause and effect. Every one of these narratives comes supercharged with craft, canny wordplay, razor-sharp wit and intelligence.”

Chris Jones

“Al McClimens has a talent for throwaway comments that blaze with unexpected aptness. His notes on the universe may be wry, they may often express a melancholy disappointment with the way the world has become, they may even be snarlingly angry, but they’re always striking, always wielding a slick blade of skew-whiff exactness. The language is everyday, but tight. The subjects are often quirky (‘Mary Poppins’ sits next to ‘The Russian Revolution’, La Bohème nestles against a ‘Garage Sale’) or given eccentric spins. These poems instantly appeal, but, like earworms, they also nestle in your awareness for a good while longer.”

Noel Williams

Shubunkins

In the splintering late afternoon light, the clouds
are straight out of Greek mythology as buses
roll by, lit up like aquaria and the passengers
float to the surface to breathe. There are warning
signs, of course. Do Not Tap on the Glass. Do Not
Feed. Crowds gather on street corners just to look.
Teenagers kiss the windows on a dare. On bends
the water can slop over. There are warning signs,
of course. Do Not Stand Forward of This Notice.
Do Not Speak to the Driver While the Bus is in
Motion. Teenagers kiss each other on a dare.
Then they come to the surface to breathe. Then
they come to the kitchen to be fed. We tried
to warn them. We tapped on the glass. Be careful,
we told them. The aquarium. It’s a trap. Their mouths
open and close in a pathetic dumb show. Feeding
or osculation. Same difference. Information goes in
one ear, forgotten by the time it comes out the other.
The day splinters further. Five o’clock spangles stir
the sunset into a cocktail mix. Teenagers congregate
in the Co-op car park. The buses are full of bullion
now. Their phones flash like goldfish in a bowl.
The boys recycle cider in sparkling arcs. The shop sign
glitters. The girls applaud. The light is Midas-touched.

(from The Other Infidelities)