Popshot Magazine Issue 31

SPRING 2021 Intimacy is more important than ever at a time when many of us are sequestered away in our homes. The simplest acts of intimacy, from a hug to a pat on the knee or a held hand are currently off-limits except to our immediate households. But, with vaccines and warmer weather on the horizon, those acts of physical intimacy that we currently reach for but cannot take, are drawing closer. In their absence, we have found creative ways to connect or reconnect with people. From the conversation over Zoom with your ninety-year-old grandparent that gives you a truer picture of who they are; or the neighbours you've formed close friendship with because you chat over the fence in desperation for external stimulus; to the old friends on the…

She fell deeply, madly, inexplicably in love with the head of lettuce. It sat there so unobtrusively under the grocery store lights, bathed in a fine mist of shining water. She wasn’t even looking for love, but it found her, right there in the produce section, Muzak providing the soundtrack. The pale green leaves glowing like harbingers of better things to come. Even the name Iceberg filled her with a sense of wonder, of hope for new and exciting adventures. She reached forward slowly but another hand was faster and as she watched the lettuce leave her, cradled in the arms of another, she tried to convince herself it was for the best. Her mother certainly wouldn’t have approved and what would they have raised their children as, people or…

sat in the quiet pub waiting for him to get the drinksat another table when their girlfriends have gone to the toiletI see him drape his arm over his mate’sshoulder and then stroke his friend’s facenot sexual not romanticaffectionate and thinking they don’t have an audienceso don’t have to act natural and play the parts of menon the seventies sitcom set that is this pubmasculinities slip they don’t make a joke about the stroke like men butthey smile at one another likehumans…

Sat straddled by my mother in the porcelain tub, she bathes me in grey water freshly rinsed off her own skin. The bathroom is silent, save for the monotony of her palms cradling the suds that trickle over my hair, down my bared spine, landing back in her lap. I hug my hands to my chest, not yet succumbing to the urge of becoming Ariel with her clam-clamped breasts. Budded nipples braille declarations of youth. The snugness of our bodies is maternal, uncorrupted, her whiskered scallop embracing me - its pearl - like sea pining for sand, sun for the offing. We are closer than we have been all day, a child’s affection still clandestine for fear of loss. Tentatively, I lean into her every touch. The night does this…

Gabe Mayfield was an artist who painted nothing but clothing. He painted polka-dot pyjamas dangling on washing lines, pressed suits laid out on beds, lacy underwear caught on lampshades and coloured t-shirts fusing together in washing machines. His latest exhibition was imminent so he was confined to his studio, a big shed at the bottom of his neglected garden. He gazed moodily at his unfinished painting. He’d been working on it for weeks but something was still missing. The painting was of a pair of yellow jogging bottoms that looked like they’d just been stepped out of. A cherry-red top lay next to them on the bathroom carpet. The background was sea-blue; it looked too bright and too empty, like a room without any furniture. Gabe took a final swig…

Virginia clutched the tub of fresh mozzarella close to her chest. The slogan across the lid read, “always fresh and creamy.” Looking around, she spotted a young employee stacking boxes at a nearby table. “Excuse me,” she called out. The employee kept her back to Virginia and continued to build a display of gluten-free sea salt crackers. “Excuse me,” she said a tad louder, “I understand they’re having a liquid bath but how long can they survive out of water?” She tapped the top of the tub twice with her crooked pointer finger. The Foody Foods employee turned, sternly wiping her hands on the dark green apron. “Ma’am, the mozzarella balls need to stay in the water to retain their moisture.” The way the employee spoke made Virginia feel small.…