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Press » David Howard » Shebang » Cherry | ||||||||||||||
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Cherryfor Peter Munro The usual is not the usual – you here, squeezed between leaking Budweiser – you styrofoam cup branded with one word: *Your caress catalogues that archaeological site, her
body: Under seven layers of skin the fossilised probiscus of a mosquito. the slave Briseis’ pubic hair: the fingerprints of her captors. the refrain of a nursery rhyme: the jingle for a cosmetics company. nothing but. *A grass-blade between your teeth and the white socks of that novice in the third row Your trousers burred with cherry, you know the girl the bell-tower rings you both to assembly. *That first winter together raking pack snow to the timbrel’s rattle an overworked mare. Hoar-frost chewing sleet, tobacco the more you declare *her yes separates torso from shadow no and then as a bride takes the veil tense as a pool while the stone dead, her face is glazed clearer than the call of this boy she remembers whatever before the fact – before with one blown kiss with one blown kiss Late 1999, Faulder Avenue – early 2000, Kingsley Street, Auckland
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