A skin had formed over her hot chocolate,
Creasing clinging off her spoon –
Grandmother’s bingo wings.
“I couldn’t get a regular rhythm,”
He had said.
Surely the milk could not be off?
She’d only bought it yesterday,
From the kind man whose hands
She imagined soft as clotted cream,
Pooling pennies in the lap of her fiver.
litter the naked road,
slowly curling yellow
like handprints of blood
ironising under the sun.
Antonia Cundy  is an American Literature MPhil student at Cambridge University. She has written for Prospect Magazine, and her poetry has been published in Alliterati Magazine, The NCLA Review, Roam Magazine, and others.