New poetry by Sara Crowley


They say ‘She’s out of control.’
‘Someone should do something.’
They phone social services, who send nice women with too quiet voices to soothe and help.
They go away again, smiling,
satisfied that their sensible advice has made a difference.
How lovely for them.
The last one –
‘Just call me Mimi, my name is too difficult for you to pronounce,’
suggested that I express myself in another way.
Stop punishing myself,
stop the cut and slice relief,
give myself a break.
So I have.
Petrol and one match, simple.
Licking, zagging, spreading.
Spitting burns.
Out of control.

• Sara Crowley blogs at


  1. Anonymous

    Great piece, Sara, the ultimate revenge!

  2. Anonymous

    Really great brisk work, Sara.

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