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Robyn Finds Poetry

Weekday Late Night

Robyn MacKinnon·March 18, 2016

Robyn Finds Poetry Robyn MacKinnon Poetry English

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Weekday Late Night

A snapshot of an internet dweller at night

found poetry

written by: Robyn MacKinnon

@art_rat

personal effects

and wasabi ginger chips

at the computer

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About
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Robyn MacKinnon

I am mostly a visual artist, but I like to create "found poetry", specifically daily haiku made from the statuses of my Facebook friends. It was my Mom who started this, and officially passed the responsibility onto me when she became too busy.

Latest posts by Robyn MacKinnon (see all)

Bus Stop - June 8, 2025
Mysterious Mind - June 1, 2025
Space Turbine - May 25, 2025

This publication is part 3 of 445 in the series Robyn Finds Poetry

Suman Pokhrel

Suman Pokhrel is a Nepali poet, lyricist, playwright, translator, and artist. He debuted in 1999 with a poetry collection and has since published works, including translations of Shakespeare and global poets. His poems are translated into many languages and taught across South Asia. A two-time SAARC Literary Awardee, he also received Asia’s Inspiring Poet Award and was named Author of the Month by Spillwords in June 2023. Beyond literature, he works as a freelance consultant in socio-economic research, rural development, entrepreneurial development and creative writing. He began his career in Nepal’s civil service and later worked with international NGOs. He holds degrees in Science, Law, Business Administration, and Economics.

Condoms by Seán Óg Ó Murchú

They all laughed at me. All the dinner ladies. It started with your one, I’m after forgetting her name now… Smelly Nelly’s ma. A wet little tear trickled toward her tattooed cheekbone. She was roaring red. Her harsh, wheezing laughter sounded like a black taxi tackling the Whiterock Road, her throat destroyed from all the fegs she used to be hoofing into her. She called over the other dinner ladies then, an army of them. Or maybe it was the curiosity of her horrid laughing that brought them over… I can’t remember.
“Tell the girls what you’re only after asking me there ni wee mawn.”
I looked between herself and the girls. Jesus Christ, I said in my own mind, Mental Mick is after stealing all my crayons that I’d been hoarding for myself there before the break...

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Weekday Late Night

A snapshot of an internet dweller at night

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