Poetry by
Gregory McIntyre

the sun rises to set the scene I am spread out on the bed obscene the fly screen’s busted blood’s encrusted my foot it took a shard from the dish you hurled at me from several paces missing and smashing against the wall

(the next one didn’t miss at all)

and though I still feel your warm embrace when I dithered and wondered if I really needed the space and your lip slowly curled and your eyes slowly curdled and you slipped from my grasp

(and looked at me like I’d murdered)

and though last night’s sounds surround my bed, I wince at the way I remember you said when I went for my keys, “Oh God fuck no please”

(queasy you looked, as you looked back at me)

I slide out of bed and limp to the bath and pink swirls its lazy way to the drain and okay, maybe that could have gone better I find the dustpan to clean shards away

(and outside my window it’s starting to rain)

the man on the TV in emotional strains while standing alone in a scene monotone of bone dry black stumps says if only we’d known says of the black summer, unprecedented extraordinary loss, the country’s in pain

(but I can’t help but notice, the smoke’s blown away and outside my window it’s starting to rain)