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)