Alexandra Oliver

You’d see them hauling speakers at a gig, / drinking Cokes and fondly reminiscing / about that night (the ketamine! The wig!)

I always went for darkness as a girl: those ashy Europeans wrapped in capes, the ranks of zombies browsing in the mall, the cabin-dwelling fan with swelling hopes, her novelist …

Apparently, it’s very, very bad to let a well-dressed man into your home. An Oxbridge accent, coupled with the claim your husband’s hurt, and he’s from Scotland Yard: disaster! When …

The females of my family extolled the virtues of our Queen, her cautious charm, the opera glove that sheathed the guiding arm. For this was ours, the Englishwoman’s mould. But …