Bloody Mary

Bloody Mary

Outside the Dribs & Drabs
Mary sits down on a concrete slab,
legs spread
handbag open;
searches for a fag and a light,
clicks her tongue,
lost one heel in a bloody cat fight;

Lost my man to a Chinese bitch named Zong

Mary leans to the side,
tugs at her thongs,
her bra strap,

Stupid effing karaoke nights

coughs up blood
and lights a smoke—
takes a drag through one eye;
mascara tears and rusted teeth shimmer
in a chip van brake light glimmer;
red streaks that fade
(the engine chokes)
around the corner of
Despair and Clichéd.

I wasn’t hungry anyway

The Dribs & Drabs’ doors shut;
drunken voices vanish
further down the road,
into curry houses,
falafel joints.

God, I could do with a pie – Cornish

It starts to snow.
Mary wipes blood streaks
from her upper lip,
stumbles to her feet in the cold,
hobbles around the corner;
stone-washed denims
too tight to undo and squat;
Mary unzips,
graffiti pisses
against the wall,
takes a step back to admire her work,
and falls into forever.


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