Stick With Iced Tea If You Like It

We are what we are.

Eyeballing a shot of self-importance and

Inhaling cake

When all we want is bread

Le pain quotidien

Wafer thin and wholesome we would sit upon the deckchairs of the world

In tea shades

And a leather onesie

Big enough for two

Siamese and at ease with the bare minimum:

White wash and chipped enamel

Colours outside the line and on our faces

Hands

Dimples

We are what we are.

Onagainoffagain

Wanting our bodies blended with ash, violence and ethanol

Like the Greats

We are karaoke in an over-priced bar.

And you are the biggest offender.

dialogue 2

Her voice frayed by cooing and fabric softener.

‘Oh, Richard.’

Twenty years and this lump of gold, now tight on her finger, still felt like a hoop she had to jump through, every day.

‘Stell…’

‘Mm.’

‘Stella.’

‘Stella…Tell me what to say.’

‘What can you - ’

Her sob was a flint through the air, tearing at him. She knew there was more. A dog whimpering, pleading for the final blow.

‘What can you say?’

The two pieces of amber, her eyes, burned, melting into slow tears.

‘Stell…’

‘Please, all of it, all at once.’

It was a challenge, a test of human endurance.

‘When did it start?’

‘Six months ago.’

‘June?’

‘In Greece.’

‘Greece?’ Her voice repeated but could not believe.

‘You, the kids, Stephen…You all went to the market, we stayed - ’

‘Oh, God.’

This train is not stopping at this station. The magnetic pull she always experienced, drawing her to the edge, following the yellow line like a circus act. In her mind she is Anna Karenina. Stella Green is just dust on the mantelpiece, under the porcelain dancers.

‘She’s pregnant, Stell.’

This was the feeling of now, would be the feeling whenever she saw her. Her and him. Now on Christmas Day. Birthdays. Weekends. Oh and poor, unknowing, sweet Stephen. Her baby. Telling lies to her only child. And this new baby: stepchild, grandchild, stepchild, grandchild, stepchild –

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Carry on as normal. Pretend it’s Stephen’s baby.’

‘Carry on?’

‘What else, Stell? What else is there to do?’

‘What else…’

‘Stell, the turkey’ll be getting cold.’

‘Mm. I need to get the spuds out of the oven.’

group wh(y)

Sausages in the pan, agitated popping.

‘Why d’you hit him with that bat?’

‘I didn’t, no.’

‘You did.’

‘Never.’

‘Then how come he in hospital?’

‘Accident.’

He spits, knowing she hates it. She tuts.

‘Oh he just run into that bat, huh?’

‘Yep.’

Staring competition, line drawn between them.

‘Don’t you lie to me.’

‘Lie? Never.’

‘Don’t you-ʼ

‘Never I say. Listen.’

Sausages flipped, fireworks, 5^th November.

‘I listen every time.’

‘What?’

Crescendo.

‘I say I listen every time.’

‘And what?’

‘And every time is lies’.

Lithium in a sweaty fist.

‘What?’

‘You heard.’

Blink.

‘Every time is lies?’

‘Every time. Lies.’

Blink twice, exhale.

‘Well.’

Rises, giant in this small room.

‘Mm.’

Eye of the –

‘sorry.’

‘Wh-what?’

‘You heard.’

Smile

Two long strides

His kiss burns between her eyes.

A target mark, practice later.

it's oh so quiet...

Pumpkin Shell

You don’t come in a box but you’re a puzzle

No instructions

No manual folded in impossible creases.

A palm print command

In blue paint on red rock I could understand but

This

This iron mouth chewing through my mongrel bones

This is some type of theatre, surely -

Believing you are the fourth wall then

Coming home to tea and toast

Burnt, marmalade, brilliant.

But again, the impossible velvet draws open

And we snap like cinnamon sticks

The smell in the air for days.

You know, I know, they know

If someone left a bundle on our porch

We’d blow ourselves a new stage.

Never a new door.

A door would be impossible.