Moss on the possibility, calamine the blush.
Not so aloof, death sits aloft, the poverty meniscus, and
The barmaids-mermaids seem. A man explains:
All these ‘overeducated baristas’ – they know too much.
For coffee switch scotch. Open window crack up
Slip through that. Dropped stitch, tear
Drop, drop of hat. Float in that, porcelain doll cool in wool in
Summer, laid back as a porch. Art nouveau as a lily,
Slowly rising after brunch. The night’s prerequisite,
A preference to esteem, myself, the sharp and blunt, at once.
She’d see my meaning, if I say, take any savings from the market
Place and value these things clean;
The broom has implications that will differ for the witch.
Katie Hansord is a writer and researcher living in Melbourne. Her poetry has appeared in Southerly and her PhD examines Australian women’s poetry and politics in the nineteenth century.