by Ivy Alvarez
Rage like a salty stew, simmering with rue, with intent,
doomed to lose the audition, husband said, easy as breath to the breeze.
Age mocks us all, even in Dover. Believe it when the sign says ‘relent’.
Tombstones, milestones: no difference. Cheese and chalk crumble with ease.
Breast, skin, hair: where do these things disappear? Heavenward?
Thighs of neverending muscle, brittle clavicles, the blistered sole,
west arriving, bearing shadows. Brown paper tied with cord.
Mad dogs and Englishmen singing songs, Calais-bound.
Blue music for the hemispheres, red for shopping malls, she thought,
plaid bought, tartan fought, biscuit brittle and moon round,
shoes of black and brown. What was learnt and what was taught
fails to keep these bellies full. Eat the stew, eat the air,
mail this green grass blade to Dover. Wolf or rabbit: beware.
© Ivy Alvarez