What have you to say for yourself, miss cat's eye chorus girl with the angelhips & sinner's smile? Go ask the landlord for the rent money back, you'll make better use of it than he. Little street urchin with ink in your pigtails, hiding in a castle of old tires as the sun melts into the sea & oyster gatherers return home with sad empty buckets. There's a place for you at the end of the pier where no one else will sit, just watch for splinters in your barefeet. Waterbirds rip their food from the waves. The legs of the pier are weakkneed & the lampposts have rheumatism. The ocean voice is hoarse after all these years & endless tides. Weeds grow through the cracks of your toes. The tattered mayor walks along, nursing impure thoughts. Don't let him catch you there.
1 comment:
Thank you. :)
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