poetry and prose webzine
church bells sound antiquated
as you sit in McDonald’s hungover:
belief among fluorescents.
some fat kid with Airpods just threw a gherkin slice at me.
we’re all outnumbered, in the same time and place
and the bus I was supposed to get goes past the window:
another shift I won’t make.
I throw a gherkin slice back at that fat kid
and his left Airpod falls out of his head.
he steps on it. it crackles like a burning beetle. he screams
and his glossy mum comes over
telling me I can pay for that.
I’d marry her
just to fuck her
once, loud and rough
while her fat kid sits horrified in the other room,
as his naked left ear can’t help but hear:
the smacking of her big tanned arse
like gherkin slices slapping my face.
the brass knobs of the bedposts knocking the walls
like church bells chiming.
catholic: catholic: a sad angry hungover rut.
she’s yelling now, her face shinier than McDonald’s cheese.
I can’t remember where I parked the car and I don’t even have one.
I am loving this hangover: the Freud, the flesh, the woe.
like I said: catholic.
then the church bells stop
and it’s just an argument in McDonald’s.