So, in brief, it was a post from a wrecked jetty near Deptford Creek where the cormorants dry out, a place where you and I could live and fish. But I lost it, the last post that had quotes from Brautigan and Trout Fishing in America, the book we carried around all day, and especially the bit when he writes ‘Fuck you,’ I said to the outhouse. All I want is a ride down the river.’
Sideways hug, all my children born out that ear now, once a year forever now because of that sidling hug. Well, digging a well to pop them down. And we’re so up, coming with a cup for the nightly piss and splish now. Sideways kiss, missing the cheek and into the hair let down to incorporate the lovers’ frown, in debt to bigger banks we once rolled down, collecting leaves like the wig not mine or yours but all the several ways to hug, which are not permitted now.
The putty pony has its special place
in the cleavage of the herdsman’s daughter
placed in conference for our riderless time
to protect her from all servitude
and the conspiracy of mange.
The inheritance of the surly night
unbearable as it was
kept the herdsman sane
but pushed his daughter through the keyhole
of an enchanted stable door.
That time you pulled that thing from out beneath the carpet without moving any of the furniture.
One night I heard you hacking back that budleia growing out of your bricks with just a pair of kitchen scissors.
Your balcony barbecue was a blaze commmented upon by everyone in our Whatsapp group.
Your girlfriend kept up her screaming fit for two hours and you were not moved.
I made this tie myself
out of a motel information card
I don’t want room service
or a wake-up call
There must be something
something I can say
to get us out of this
as bad as it is foolish
that fight on the roof of the train
dangling by a finger
and a thumb in your eye.
Perhaps out of shot actors
who roam the foreshore
can dramatise our scene
for a redundant queen
and promote a goodwill claim
and figure this migrating ship.
I will weave for the tourists
for the cameras
for the city sons
who like to see over
the top of a woman’s head
but I will not sell
my dream of riding bareback
on fucking icy steppes
in sling-back seal skin slippers
and nothing less.
Wear wedding dress to launderette, strip off to petticoat, ask to wash wedding dress in machines of heart broken customers, but offer to buy washing powder to be polite, wash til white dress is dirty grey. Take divorce photo with anyone who happens to be there. Keep shoes.
Please find attached:
floorplan to approve
concrete courting as requested
and library bucket.
Hippocrates, walk this way
through slabs of sanatorium
for your wealth and nocturnal happiness
we graft for you
and your midwife shapes.
People will still come here
to wave their possums on sticks