After the soil is flung 

after black dress shoes 

walk you back up a wet road

may the prawns be fat

their party popper bodies 

lined up like ammunition

on a glass table you better move 

in close to each other like

sad horny throw pillows 

in function room three

faces full of supermarket aisle 

misdirection you better say 

she was a ghostly multivitamin 

and passed through us in half 

a day I still smell her on my hands 

little piss-bright bunny-hedger 

could never decide to be early 

or late and somehow was neither 

I want balloons all the shapes and colours 

of giblets yes even the digestive tract 

I was a bad friend a bitter woman 

I pulled the tablecloth from the head

table ta da you better not read any poems 

instead tell three lies and one truth

I want my sofa friends to wallow

in my mud coffee breath open wide 

it’s typical of me to do this like 

who the fuck dies on a Tuesday 

haunting is pathetic and suits me 

to the ground which is the dad 

and the mum the sky please 

make sure they don’t come

they don’t make sense 

in the same room