She's beautiful and she's laughing. It's another poem from the ironic pages of the Shapcott gender bestiary. Watching Medusa Struck dumb when I saw her scalp begin to stir, saw the little eyes slide like drops through her hair, saw them look back at me kindly and fluid as a bunch of lovers. Here we have a challenge to the mythologies of patriarchy. The rules have changed.
Nothing is sacred.
And in a monarchy, history is inviolable - but not for Shapcott. This is political poetry. The centre doesn't hold, and she's here to tell us about it. Hilary surprised herself by breaking wind. The gender play here is deft and unrelenting.