This is an old one but it's got food and sex and maybe something else
besides.
Geraldine
Mulloway
Did you dream your death last night -
breathless as a mulloway rasping silver over
the ledges, the gaff entering like a judgement?
Did you see me running moon-armed
down a narrow street, carillions of garbage cans
jangling the pavement, enough to wake the dead
in their cosy parlours surrounded by whiskey
and sandwiches and you in an alleyway
straddling some tipsy mourner, tears unpeel
her face with you swearing the same old lies
sweating on your usual hook though you allow
her mouth and sing a soft bum curled
like butter and breasts falling plums into
your ready hands. Everything's edible of course
including the mulloway, which lasted nearly a week.
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