augury doggerel

Tuesday, May 06, 2003


This young woman is only just, if you count the years, only just, maybe seventeen but a big drip hanging from the tap, a great bud of belly and breast, smooth, smooth full face of her own blood. On the corner she's turning, first her back, then her face, in good cool air pouring down our street. We don't wonder these days whether boy or girl; she must know that little bit of what's coming. She lays back into it, dug into heels and hips pushed forward. Somewhere, testicles hang fondly.


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