Jon Kemsley Clark's poem "Dead Drop" appears in issue forty-five of Neon Literary Magazine.

the phonebox stood at the edge of an abandoned trading estate
and was easy to miss
I fumbled for coins in the darkness
the call was brief he spoke without accent he sounded tired

contents fragile
handle with care

it was a couple of hours before the message went out

I watched from a café across the street
my pager flashed up repeatedly but I left it to buzz on the table
the waiter polished a glass and said to nobody
in my country we kill everything spiders snakes dogs
I lit a cigarette and

christ it’s cold in here

I lit a cigarette and shook out my newspaper


they just walked right up to him
the shrug the shove the flash at the tip of the muzzle
he staggered backwards against a parked car
one lapel flapping a pointless semaphore
and then his knees buckled and he was on the ground
and there was nothing

hard copy
dead drop

except the smell of rain
and a single street light throwing shadows into the gutter


Jon Kemsley Clark’s had poems and articles published in Smiths Knoll, South and Joyzine, and last week one of his short stories was accepted for publication by Storgy magazine. He works in finance which is odd seeing as he trained in science and he has decided not to mention the guitars or the record decks.

Back To Issue Forty-Five

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