I walk the square street grid and live in
The renovated white worker’s cottage,
ready-lawn trimmed tight
a wrought iron edged tidy brick and tile,
lace curtains framed soft
realise the flaking grey weatherboard
tired wire gates splayed lewd and
rough grove of grapefruit and feijoa beyond
the corrugated head-high fence
has me installed
the lunch of mortals
I cover my back -
bone, twist, nerve, disc -
the benefits of hands, heat, drugs.
Then she bares her breasts.
Biopsy, technology, genealogy.
She’s keeping her glass half-full.
So we start stirring, swimming
through his fatty red blood.
He’s denying, we’re prescribing
but realise it’s late, although
we hadn’t noticed time slip.
Three passing through middle age.
In the distance war is underway.
I hear the volley.
Blanket peace is a flimsy wall away.
for mock incoming.
Convalescent tea in primary plastic.
While I stir their fuel,
Bile-yellow eggs on
blue gas, buttering, cutting toast soldiers.
I pull rank, rally
march in formation to the fuel stop.
Gain general control.