Smoke and mirrors

The rough sleeper takes on the quality of smoke dragged from his cigarette You still see him, but he’s easier to ignore at this opacity There is coughing in the bus stop, but no one coughs

The cost of dreaming

Middle-class dreams in working-class sleeves Acquiring property and speaking of liberty like I learned in university Takes work to believe in our Middle-class dreams My cousin eats from bins he shoots Ritalin while I chew on vitamins Any way to feed all those Middle-class dreams

The rot

Wiping asses nine-to-five, itches have you up all night. All those rashes— red as scabies— contracted from all those sharting babies. Their mummies man their Audi SUVs— race round loudly, as they please. Acquiring large lumps of Ponsonby, while hubby humps his secretary. Another shower, another day... gotta wash the rot away! On the ceiling...…

Down round closed doorways

nine-to-five doors are closed the insiders are all inside but late-night doors are open welcome mats are ready down round closed doorways fa'afafine delivered in family vans now nobody’s princesses performing out there several generations all earning out there anybody’s orgasms all waiting out there to be let back in down round closed doorways hey…