let me talk you through this scene
straight
we could pretend it’s a bush dance
but really
I’m at this bar / where
bodies mill by bricks
and blue squares split the room
sitting sola on a black barstool
an egg on a nail
no—hugging hello, goodbye, to friends
who have flown in from afar who will now fly out
bye
and I’m having an ok time
they say
‘where from where next how far’
but what’s inside them?
so I focus on the music
aguanta, chiquilla, aguanta
and recall the white envelope
that I meant to post
back home
keeping up to date with world news
and all the tortillas I will press
if I ever buy a tortilla press
when a line of men files in
scattered off Splash Mountain
and one face before me smiling
rings on every finger
his hand about my drink
far away I hear water rushing
a heliconia
or just a fern in rain
I chuck down ice in all directions
slapstick distraction
and instinct kicks
I’m Louie the Fly
a freight train hauling
oil, bananas, shrimp and gold
fist connects guts
a knee to balls
no—I’m a something wielder
temporary titan
master of at least three hours
futures lurching forwards and rerouting
simultaneously
(it’s a tricky thing
to get my head around
while I beat this shit quite senseless)
and I’m thinking of
my long shoelaces
I hope I don’t trip
because I’m 2850 metres above this guy
why stoop?
my knuckles kill
I’m sick of repetition
red and sticky pink intermingle
so shit
the scene’s a sham
still I throw the sap my dagger wink
see the crystal ball that I’m smashing on the floor?
a little slice
clocks his noggin
and he Clags it to the fridge
glass and glue mosaic before
‘your year in review’
