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Ninja Virgin is a stunning collection of poetry from a quite brilliant observer and recorder of life and its minor tragedies, idiosyncrasies, heroes and villains. This is a collection of poetry that you will enjoy for years to come.
Ninja Virgin
She wraps her form in black instead of blue.
Everything's covered, shoes are flexible.
Her halo's in her backpack, zipped away.
The job is on. She climbs a block of flats.
Cuts glass using her diamond laser nails,
enters the bedroom where a sick child sleeps.
Somebody prayed? It's Ninja Virgin here.
Puts halo on. Time for a miracle.
The child turns in her sleep and starts to sweat.
Next day the doctor'll say the crisis passed.
Now Ninja Virgin's gone. She abseils down.
Crosses the busy road, picks up a dog,
that almost went beneath a taxi's wheels.
The driver sees the dog up in the air
but not the Ninja Virgin holding him.
He hits the brakes and skids but halts in time.
She's off. Another job. A homeless man
lies on the sidewalk in his tattered rags.
His head is pillowed on a bag of clothes.
A filthy blanket covers most of him.
No priest around to give him the last rites.
He sees her, smiles, says. "Mary!" as he dies.
She can't save everyone. That's not her brief.
The police will find him by the morning's light.
She's closed his eyes to hide their ecstasy.
She's at the hospital. The doors swing wide.
She's only visible to those like her:
night people, loners, those who're on the edge.
The porter winks at her. She's in the ward,
unhooking oxygen, breathing her life
into the old ones fighting for each breath.
Doctors and nurses check the monitors.
A power-cut perhaps. But all is fine.
Pulses are checked. Some mini miracles.
But none acknowledged by the men of science.
It's almost morning now. She's off again
to hide her darkness from the coming light.
Her black would be no camouflage at all.
She's worked her shift. It's time for morning saints.
