i hope you don’t walk over

everyone like this

not everybody’s concrete

or heavy sand

there are some whose feet are made of clay

inscribed with feathers

they fly unsure

too close to the ground

listing, to and fro

without sound

and you know who they are

i hope you don’t walk over

everybody like this

in your dollar store sneakers

and capitalist genes

evolved, like no other

to symbolise fear

and the shock of the nude

a fornication of ideals

and the stillborn bloodshot hump

of a blistered nation

given up and over

in it’s salad years

i hope you don’t walk over

everyone like this

make of this what you will

the template of whore

you know tearing off

thin strips of ripped skin

is not massage anymore

not in anyone’s book

but it’s a catwalk snap

trapped nerves and singularities

winking at paparazzi and working it

back to me every time

with your size fives

walk/don’t walk – green light/red light/wait

online, wasting time, blind

drunk footfall on my spine

I hope you don’t walk over

everyone like this

sick squid


you know, i pity the fool

who gets sucked in by you

there was an eight to one bargain plea

taken out by a jury of able seamen

and disabled heathens, replete with catgut

and the souls of little children

but life went on; repeat, repeat

while your many hands made work of me

you’d think you’d elicit sympathy

looking so tentacley and shit

but no, public opinion’s not cephalopod

friendly, it seems, so you’re left high

and dryin’ out on the harbor wall

where it all began, back in 2004

when i recall the first time i saw

your legs and the small

of your back and your shoulders

quite broad, and i thought “she’s a sort,”

you know, for a bird with a face like

Neptune’s sock drawer

then we got married, didn’t we?

on brighton beach, we stood in the sea

and you laughed because i fell over a wave

and i laughed because it was my perfect day

even soaking wet in a suit, I wanted to be there

i wanted you, and sure enough, post reception

we went back to the suite and we made love

in eight positions, it was a steamy affair

four arms and ten legs, slime on the chairs

and then we had bruce, our son and heir

a beautiful kid, he takes after you

except he doesn’t look like a squid,

which is really good news

ten years further on, it started going west

when you flirted with bruce’s judo teacher

laughing at his shitty jokes and suckering his chest

one night, i went to see him, to knock him out cold

but he put me in a choke hold and i passed out

and pissed myself in front of all the kids

and then they started calling bruce “pissy squid biscuits”

whatever that means, and we started to fight

every night and he cried and he cried

and he begged you to live with me

but you had the law on your side

cold and oblivious, they gave him to you

the situation was ridiculous,

because you’re three quarters terrible mum

and one quarter hideously amphibious

soon after I heard you’d hit the bottle

the stress of being a single mum

it hit you harder than most, I suppose, because

you can drink eight bacardis at once

but at least I got him back, little bruce

he’s safe and sound at home with me

and luckily he can’t see you now, head bowed

and naked, falling into the sea

you’re dried up and worthless

Kelly Mari