Table of |
Pound Shop Green Frogs
looks down on her tears
at the argument in her home over who should have the troublesome Staffy who ragged the leather sofa
in their Caravan at Skeg-Vegas on their honeymoon.
Coffee goes cold in the mugs as a money spider creeps into her hair when she laughs at his suggestion that she only defends others,
turns her second hand diamond wedding ring round and round her finger because it feels good.
Her tears taste like morning salt from the high tide waves, and his night sweat when he is full on,
and she the dry sand in his belly button
briefly grits her newly shaven thighs.
She pulls him out of his own blood
after he is beaten by yobboes
after facing up to their standing
on a blackbird's who has a broken wing.
In the cemetery she feeds absent squirrels
shelled peanuts purloined from my blue ringed-neck parrot
I tell her to stop walking on the graves because there are people in there, and we don't want to disturb them,
especially as we've had lunch at the pub
and bought some plastic ducks for the bath bottom to stop her sliding about.
After Receiving Your Note
I thought of this sunthundered afternoon
when spiderling superheroes in sandwich boards
"6.99 Any Pizza"
waved at transport as it passed.
Sunlight is too bright for you
like that redhead in black gladiator sandals
and little grey dress pushing an empty pram uphill.
A Merlot His Roman Nose Approves Of
as she discreetly plays
with her borrowed cold silver necklace
and prays he can't tell
she has used a copy
of a more expensive fragrance.
The fifth dress she tried on was her choice for the evening, bought in a rush
from the recently opened vintage shop on her break
processing the newest batch of refugees for deportation.
© Twilight by Frank Murphy