Poetry

Vacancy

Rotund toes and fingers and lips
a swelling that only increases.
A child’s grip replaced
with ghosts of almost touches.
Then the pale heat shivers.
A jaw drops open
the thought was stillborn.

Give her the moon
as dead as she isn’t.
There is potential in her chubby grasp.
Nearly human but not withered enough,
a quail’s egg to the ostrich
whispering speckled sermons
in the face of encroaching white.

Tides fold outwards
relinquishing
the three-day casket
all fins and flipper and throat
bloated rubber,
before the purge
it sinks to the graveyard.

Starry corpses
do not snap, crackle and pop
in this milk filled moonlight.
They do not leave
a faint impression on gums.
Afterwards even water
tastes bitter.

Give her a drink
make sure it is frozen.
Then watch the orchid grow
lips, pouch, hood and stem
three on three, a sestet
of petals interrupted
by a thirst for pollen.

You forgot what you
queued up for
and buy chewing gum.
No to cash back
yes to consumption.
Outside you light a cigarette
that isn’t there.

These are not possessions,
you borrowed them
and never paid the late fee.
It’s greedy to eat the world
with just your eyes
spitting it out to save calories.
Your stomach still swollen. 

This is not a house.
You cannot live here.
Moving day is over,
unpack the tightly folded
achievements from that coffin
you won’t need a pillow.
We lost your deposit.

Everyone is trespassing.
Can I see your invitation
to tread inside the belly of the beast.
Who said you could eat that
touch that, be here.
Home is where the abstract concept is,
I hear there is no place like it.

Katie Smart