To A Troll Who Loves Me

More than the hard luck stories
you hold dearer than the mildewed pillow
you’ve clutched at every night since your teddy bear
escaped on a train bound for Luton or Mallow;

more than your favourite team
hitting first the post, then the bar
in the F.A. Cup final which defined
your shit childhood, you love me more even

than the no one who pays attention to your
poems; more than the land your father
didn’t leave you in his will; more

than the mediocre grades you got despite
having been sufficiently flexible
to sleep with your teacher;

more than all the little people
who, despite your fat
advantages, turned out far better
than you, more than all of these
rolled into one, you want me.

So tonight
you’re a giant sexless toddler throwing
dead animals out of its play pen
in the hope someone
will throw one back;

your mind a no bedroom basement flat
(with kitchenette) which you fill with manic ferrets
and badgers with psychiatric issues
to make the place smell better.

Each time you message me
I kill you by never
having heard of you,
or anyone who’s ever
heard of you

Kevin Higgins

Previously: Kevin Higgins on broadsheet

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19 thoughts on “Ode To A Troll

  1. Bertie Blenkinsop


    If you don’t think my poems are wonderful, it’s your fault, not mine.

    1. Nigel

      I think he might have finally found a target worthy of his vituperative style, though that depends on whether we’re talking about real actual trolls or just people who don’t like his poems, granting that there may be some overlap.

      1. missred

        Interesting you bring up whether it’s actual trolls he speaks of or not. Sometimes from his style of writing I genuinely cannot tell whether it is he, in fact, who is trolling us. The sincerity levels vary greatly.

        1. Nigel

          I think if you simply imagine these poems being read aloud by Leather Jacket Guy, you get a sense of the overall intent.

          Note to broadsheet -I would consider watching a small fraction of a video of LJG reading a Kevin Higgins poem. Just so I could tell the grandchildren about it when we gather around the fire while sheltering in the ruins of western civilisation.

          1. Bertie Blenkinsop

            I imagine them delivered in the style of a Bono style preach….

            “the God I believe in isn’t short of cash, Mis-ter”

          2. Nigel

            He should go totally old-school like Brendan Kenneally or Anthony Cronin, speaking each line as a heavy reluctant sigh rising to a long plaintive note throbbing with repressed emotion that stretches back to the Celtic Twilight.

          3. Holden MaGroin

            If nothing else I learned what vituperative means.

            I did not care for this poem.

  2. missred

    Well, that’s some lack of love bestowed upon our Kev, judging from the “waaahhhh, mummy” I can feel jumping off the page as I read it. Someone get him his childhood blanket please. And perhaps some adult Pampers.

  3. Boj

    I like how he rhymed WAHHHHH with WAHHHHH.
    In my mind, good poetry should have a magical quality, no matter what the subject…this ain’t magic. It’s breath-taking to read, and not in the good way. Hard to find a flow. It looks nice if nothing else though.

  4. bisted

    …is there something in the Higgins gene pool that makes them believe they are poets?

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