If you were a forensic expert
You could trace my journey home
through little bits of bile
From Ponsonby Road to Grafton
via the tattoo parlour
and Hopetoun Bridge’s night kitchen
Past the girls too young or not clean enough
to work the agencies of Karangahape Road
Maybe they like the thrill of the chase or that bitter taste
of freedom. or. the risk of going it alone
On the coldest of midwinter streets
No Sheets
No Cover
No protection
They check me out as I whistle past
Swinging my plastic bag of takeaways
Perhaps it was my strange behaviour?
Leaning into any available shrubbery or gutter drains
to deposit the Malaysian meal’s not-easily-digestables
Churned up and spat out
Spoonfuls of regurgitation
All the way home
This little piggy eats too fast.
This little piggy eats too much
This little piggy doesn’t know when she’s had enough.
The moon gives those girls
a run for the money and attention
Not that their customers care – eyes tightly shut
Inconspicuously parked up
Spills her light onto surrounding clouds
Feeling her fullness as she waxes
Cold milk brimming beauty
Taut breast compressed into a too-small push-up cup
This night
Touch it
Just about ready
To overflow
Caitlin Smith August 8th 2006