One Hundred and Forty.


Izzy circle


packaged baby carrots, pre-packaged, peeled and tail-ended
they look like weird mutated orange baby fingers
I keep expecting them to be soft between my teeth


Sarah circle


My head’s up by the window cleaners
Scraping the sky
And my collarbones are strutting the street like a New Orleans jazz band
I stuff a pigeon through my teeth
And feel it press down through my eighteen-storey neck
To land with a thump between the gridlocked cars



Have words to throw back at us?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s